ELIZABETH  GRINNELL 


n. Label  B.WinsIow 
718  Arroyo  Drive, 
Pasadena,  Calif. 


•£^?^xt    .  fU^&L 


f.&. 


John  and  I  and  the  Church. 


•   OF  CAIIF.   LIBRARY,   LOS  AKGELES 


WHEN    HE    ROSE    TO    SPEAK    HE    WAVED    HIS    HANDKERCHIEF. 


John  and  I  and  the  Church 


BY 

Elizabeth    Grinnell 

AUTHOR  OF  "  HOW  JOHN  AND  1  BROUGHT  UP  THE  CHILD" 


Who  builds  a  church  to  God,  and  not  to  fame, 
Will  never  mark  the  marblt  with  his  name 

POPE,  EPISTLE  III,  LINE  28 


Illustrated 


New  York     Chicago     Toronto 

Fleming  H.  Revell  Company 

mdcccxcvii 


COPYRIGHT 

FLEMING  H.  REVELL  COMPANY 
1897 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  rAGK 

I    THE  CHURCH  OUTGROWS  JOHN        .       .       7 
II    THE  CHURCH  HAS  A  BOOM       ...      15 

III  THE  CHURCH  GIVES  us  A  POUND  PARTY 

AND  A  MISSIONARY  Box      ...     22 

IV  JOHN'S  VIEWS  OF  CHURCH  DEBT      .       .      30 
V    THE   PEW-SYSTEM  AS  IT  WAS  WORKED 

IN  OUR  CHURCH 36 

VI    PARTING  SCENES 41 

VII    JOHN'S  FAREWELL  SERMON       ...  47 

VIII    JOHN  FINDS  A  NEW  FIELD  55 

IX    AT  SUNRISE  PARK                                     •  64 

X    A  CHURCH  RECEPTION        ....  70 

XI    WE  RECEIVE  CALLS 78 

XII    I  BEGIN  TO  LOOK  LIKE  A   MINISTER'S 

WIFE 84 

XIII  MY  NEIGHBORS  STOP  BORROWING  .       .  92 

XIV  ABIJAH  NOSEWORTHY'S  WILD  OATS       .  97 
XV    SILAS  COOMBS  AND  DEATH-BED  SCENES  103 

XVI  THE  CHURCH  HAS  A  REVIVAL         .        .in 

XVII    CHURCH  GOSSIP 122 

XVIII  AT  THE  WOMEN'S  MEETING      .       .       .128 

XIX  WAS  IT  A  FOUNDLING?      .       .       .       .140 

XX  JOHN  DID  NOT  Kiss  MRS.  BLACK'S  LIT- 
TLE GIRL 150 

XXI  A  PROPOSAL  OF  MARRIAGE       .       .        .156 

XXII  I  ATTEND  SOME  OTHER  CHURCHES        .    166 

XXIII  ELECTION  AND  REPROBATION  .       .       .173 

XXIV  THE  TUTTLE  FAMILY          .       .       .       .178 
XXV    COMPANY  TO  DINNER 188 

XXVI  EARTH  TO  EARTH,  ASHES  TO  ASHES,  DUST 
TO  DUST,  IN  SURE  AND  CERTAIN  HOPE 
OF  THE  RESURRECTION  ...  196 


2129920 


LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS. 


PAGE 

HE  COULD  ALMOST  WISH  THE  LITTLE  FLOCK 
HAD  NEVER  OUTGROWN  THE  DRUG-STORE 
HALL  9 

I  LAID  THE  THINGS  ALL  OUT  IN  ARRAY  ON  THE 

PARLOR  SOFA 28 

CHURCH-DEBT  COMMITTEES  CALL        ...       34 

MRS.  JONES  SHOWS  HER  PERTURBATION    .       .       38 

CONVERSING  AWHILE  WITH  His  NEW  CONSTIT- 
UENCY   73 

MOTHER  WANTS  TO  BORROW  SOME  OF  THE 

MORNING'S  MILK 82 

WHEN  HE  ROSE  TO  SPEAK,  HE  WAVED  His 

HANDKERCHIEF 98 

JOHN  HELD  THE  LIGHT  WHILE  FRANK  OVER- 
MAN WENT  OVER  THE  RIVER  .  .  .no 

IT  WAS  AS  IF  HE  WERE  "TAKING  STOCK"         .      115 

TELLING  THE  CHILDREN  STORIES  WHILE  SHE 
CLEANED  THEM  UP  AND  MADE  MRS.  TUT- 
TLE  COMFORTABLE 184 


CHAPTER  I 
The  Church  Outgrows  John 

The  little  church  at  Hope  Valley  Corners  out- 
grew John.  It  had  been  John's  first  charge. 
In  fact  there  was  no  church  at  all  in  Hope  Val- 
ley when  John  preached  his  first  sermon  in  the 
little  hall,  15x20,  above  the  one  drug  store  in  the 
village. 

John  was  not  a  "  fledgling,"  so  to  speak,  when 
he  commenced  his  ministry.  He  had  passed 
early  youth  before  he  had  ever  announced  a 
text,  or  attempted  to  preach,  save  as  he  held  an 
occasional  service  in  the  schoolhouse.  He  often 
declared  that  he  was  not  prepared  to  "  take  a 
charge  "  until  he  had  spent  some  years  in  obser- 
vation; although  he  was  urged  to  do  so  before 
the  ink  of  his  graduating  thesis  was  dry,  or 
he  had  learned  that  sympathy  is  born  of  experi- 
ence. He  firmly  declined,  preferring  to  "  teach 
school,"  he  said,  "  until  I  have  become  intimate 
with  human  nature  and  its  common  needs."  He 
often  says  to  me  that  "with  the  tearing  down  of 
the  little  country  schoolhouse  is  passing  away 
the  best  opportunity  of  developing  the  percep- 
tions of  doctor,  lawyer,  or  minister." 

7 


The  Church  Outgrows  John 

When  he  went  to  preach  in  Hope  Valley  there 
was  little  salary  attached  to  the  "  call."  Enough, 
however,  for  us  two  and  the  baby  to  live  upon 
as  comfortably  as  the  majority  of  people  about 
us.  To  be  sure  there  were  a  few  who  were  "  well 
to  do,"  living  in  houses  rather  pretentious,  and 
dressing  expensively.  One  or  two  of  these  fa- 
vored of  fortune  belonged  to  our  church,  or  rather 
to  the  little  hall  above  the  drug  store. 

It  was  not  long  before  the  small  room  was 
crowded.  More  chairs  were  brought — not  bought. 
There  was  little  to  contribute  to  the  church  save 
chairs  and  a  few  lamps.  Rents  were  low — and  so 
was  the  minister's  pay.  As  to  the  chairs  being 
brought,  John  often  says  that  he  wishes  large 
churches  were  furnished  in  that  way.  There  is  a 
personal  satisfaction  in  providing  seats  for 
strangers,  just  as  you  would  draw  the  chairs  up 
to  the  fire  in  your  own  house  and  bid  anyone 
who  happened  to  drop  in  "feel  at  home."  Of 
course,  in  general  church  expenses  the  seating 
usually  comes  in,  but  we  miss  the  satisfaction  of 
a  personal  interest  in  those  who  occupy  the 
pews.  One  cannot  look  about  and  say  to  him- 
self, "  I  am  glad  I  brought  that  chair,  for  there  is 
Mr.  Brotherly-love,  or  Mr.  Timorous  sitting  in  it. 
I  believe  I  shall  bring  another." 

In  less  than  a  year  there  was  not  even  stand- 
ing-room around  John.  The  congregation  sat 
8 


HE    COULD    ALMOST    WISH    THE    LITTLE    FLOCK    HAD 
NEVER    OUTGROWN    THE    DRUG-STORE    HALL. 


The  Church  Outgrows  John 

or  stood  so  close  to  him  that,  undemonstrative 
as  he  was,  he  could  not  point  in  the  direction  of 
Jerusalem,  nor  pronounce  the  benediction  with- 
out touching  the  heads  of  those  about  him.  He 
has  often  remarked  to  me  that  "  hearts  were  near, 
as  well,"  and  he  could  almost  wish  that,  for  its 
own  sake,  the  little  flock  had  never  outgrown 
the  small  dimensions  of  the  drug-store  hall.  Fill 
the  small  "  upper  rooms,"  a  score  of  them,  rather 
than  crowd  into  one  large  house.  It  is  easier  to 
"continue  with  one  accord"  in  such  places; 
there  is  less  danger  of  rivalry  and  worldliness 
and  unsympathy.  Where  a  congregation  touches 
elbows  in  a  Sabbath  service,  heart  more  easily 
meets  heart;  hence,  more  love. 

John  was  intimate  with  every  one  of  his  flock, 
and  with  a  great  many  who  were  not  of  his 
flock.  He  was  genial,  persuasive,  and  free  in 
manner.  He  did  not  wear  a  "ministerial  moral 
garb."  The  young  folks  did  not  stop  laughing 
when  they  saw  him  coming,  nor  did  their  elders 
drop  business  perplexities  and  assume  a  spirit- 
ual air.  He  was  plain=spoken ;  calm,  though  em- 
phatic in  delivery. 

And  he  was  extremely  simple,  if  to  be  simple 
is  to  be  understood.  He  never  reverted  to  the 
"  Hebrew  text,"  nor  to  the  "  Greek  translation." 
He  was  preaching,  he  said,  "  to  a  common  people 
who  read  a  common  Bible ;  and  he  would  not  re- 
9 


The  Church  Outgrows  John 

fer  to  a  possible  mistake  in  that  Bible,  lest  a 
doubt  in  the  validity  of  one  passage  might  father 
doubts  in  the  whole.  There  are  plenty  of  texts," 
he  said,  "  which  need  no  display  of  my  small 
knowledge  of  Greek  and  Hebrew,  and  from  these 
I  can  feed  the  flock.  Many  a  man  has  been 
taught  his  first  lessons  in  skepticism  from  the 
pulpit." 

When  the  time  came  that  the  little  hall  could 
hold  no  more,  and  others  were  waiting  outside,  the 
question  of  a  new  building  was  discussed.  John 
suggested  that  services  might  be  held  in  some  of 
the  schoolhouses,  and  mentioned  the  names  of 
several  ministers  who  could  preach  in  them. 
But  our  people  had  set  their  hearts  on  a  new 
church,  and  it  did  not  take  long  to  raise  a  thou- 
sand dollars  to  build  one.  It  was  paid  for  when 
it  was  completed,  and  not  left  to  be  paid  for 
after  it  was  finished.  It  would  hold  two  hun- 
dred, and  there  was  some  chair^room  besides. 
It  was  comfortably  furnished  with  a  plain  carpet 
and  cushioned  seats,  a  sweefc toned  organ,  and 
had  a  vestry  for  the  use  of  the  Sunday=school. 
The  ceiling  was  dome^shaped  and  finished  in 
natural  wood.  There  is  a  suggestion  of  the  sky, 
or  of  heaven  itself  in  a  dome,  that  is  impossible  in 
a  square  ceiling,  or  even  in  one  of  frescoed  cor- 
ners and  pinnacles — a  hint  that  boundary  lines 
are  far  distant;  a  possibility  of  stars  somewhere. 
10 


The  Church  Outgrows  John 

The  modest  belfry  was  just  high  enough  to 
accommodate  a  clear-voiced  bell,  the  gift  of  a 
bereaved  wife  whose  husband  had  sung  in  the 
choir.  "  The  bell  should  ring,"  she  said,  "  in 
place  of  the  voice  that  was  silent."  The  whole 
edifice  was  a  model  of  neatness  and  consistency. 
John's  salary  was  raised  a  trifle  to  correspond 
with  his  increased  duties,  for  the  work  widened 
with  more  membership. 

It  was  the  first  time  in  our  married  life  when 
we  could  lay  up  a  small  sum  as  we  went  along. 
John  was  "very  thankful  for  it  all,"  he  said. 
John  always  gave  his  first  thought  to  his  fam- 
ily. That  seems  a  strange  thing  to  say  of  a 
minister.  John  had  no  desire  to  amass  wealth 
nor  to  make  his  calling  a  stepladder  to  riches, 
but  he  says  that  "any  man,  a  minister  not  ex- 
cepted,  who  provides  not  for  his  own  house,  has 
denied  the  faith  and  is  worse,  in  this  respect, 
than  an  infidel." 

"  A  man  should  honor  God  by  honoring  his 
family,  God's  best  gift  to  any  man." 

"  Why,  John,"  I  would  say,  "  does  it  not  read, 
'  Seek  ye  first  the  kingdom  of  God  and  all  these 
things  shall  be  added?'  Of  course  we  are  to 
infer  from  this  that  a  Christian  believer,  espe- 
cially a  minister,  ought  not  to  think  anything 
about  the  needs  of  to-morrow,  but  be  all  the  time 
seeking  the  kingdom.  If  he  is  poor,  or  even  in 
11 


The  Church  Outgrows  John 

distress,  it  is  a  sign  that  he  has  been  very  faith- 
ful." 

John  smiled  and  kissed  the  baby  just  as  if  I 
had  made  no  remark  at  all.  Then  he  spoke,  as 
if  to  the  little  one:  "We  have  sought  the  king- 
dom, my  child,  and  if  God  does  not  keep  His 
word  by  adding  these  things,  the  fault  must  be 
our  own.  God  is  faithful;  we  must  be  faithful 
as  well,  nor  stand  in  the  way  of  His  fulfilling 
His  part  of  the  contract.  He  does  not  say  that 
in  spite  of  our  carelessness  or  thriftlessness  or 
waste  or  even  the  misconception  of  His  Word 
'  all  these  things  shall  be  added.'  '  He  knoweth 
that  ye  have  need  of  these  things,'  home  and 
clothes  and  education  and  means  of  culture  and 
gold  wherewith  to  help  them  who  have  not  yet 
sought  the  kingdom.  Of  more  value  is  the 
kingdom  than  all  these  things;  but  when  once 
it  is  found,  why  go  on  seeking  it  instead  of 
making  ourselves  fit  subjects  for  that  king- 
dom?" 

"  Yes,  but  John,"  I  said,  "  what  does  it  say 
about  the  lilies  and  the  birds  being  clothed  and 
fed?  I  was  taught  that  we  must  be  like  them 
and  take  no  thought;  that  certainly  is  what  the 
Bible  says." 

"  It  is  the  '  thought,'  the  fretting,  the  borrow- 
ing trouble,  the  useless  presentiments  of  pover- 
ty, that  the  Lord  would  have  us  avoid.  There 
12 


The  Church  Outgrows  John 

are  the  pinching  and  the  saving,  the  depriving 
of  oneself  and  family  of  the  comforts  of  to= 
day,  in  order  to  save  a  greater  sum  for  to-mor- 
row. It  is  the  dread  of  the  poorhouse  which 
haunts  some  men  in  the  face  of  affluence.  Are 
ye  not  better  than  the  birds  and  lilies?  Have 
ye  not  perception  and  ability  and  judgment 
and  thrift  and  energy  and  trust  in  God?  If 
He  clothe  them  who  have  no  storehouses  or 
barns  will  He  not  fill  our  granaries?  I  believe 
it  is  not  the  Father's  will  that  there  be  a  pauper 
in  the  Christian  church.  The  cattle  upon  a  thou- 
sand hills  are  His;  let  the  church  see  to  it  that 
the  markets  are  also  His." 

The  little  new  church  thrived.  There  were  no 
poor  among  its  members.  By  "  poor  "  I  mean 
there  were  no  collections  taken  up  for  anybody. 
"Love  is  the  fulfilling  of  the  law,"  John 
preached.  "  If  we  keep  love,  we  keep  the  law, 
and  vice  versa.  By  keeping  love  we  keep  fel- 
lowship, and  fellowship  is  what  is  needed  in  the 
church  more  than  anything  else.  Do  good  un- 
to all  men,  especially  to  them  of  the  household 
of  faith.  This  is  the  principle  of  all  the  frater- 
nal orders.  Secret  societies,  as  a  rule,  embody 
this  principle,  and  they  have  stolen  it  from  the 
church  who  has  herself  neglected  the  command. 
If  church  members  could  find  in  the  church 
that  fraternity,  aid,  fellowship,  which  are  offered 

13 


The  Church  Outgrows  John 

and  obtained  elsewhere,  there  would  cease  to 
be  heard  the  lament  that  Christain  men  seek 
the  secret  order.  The  church  needs  a  'grip' 
of  her  own.  Give  it  to  the  unfortunate;  to  the 
man  who  has  failed;  to  him  who,  for  some  unac- 
countable reason,  is  no  manager,  a  poor  provid- 
er. Give  it  to  the  backslider,  to  the  successful 
man,  to  the  rich,  and  to  the  poor.  If  there  is  a 
blacksmith  in  the  church,  take  your  horses  to 
his  shop  to  be  shod.  The  shoes  will  last  as 
long  as  if  put  on  by  some  one  outside  the 
church.  If  there  is  a  church  member  who  is  a 
grocer,  buy  your  tea  and  flour  of  him,  and  your 
clothes  of  his  cousin,  the  merchant.  If  you 
have  a  doctor  or  a  lawyer  who  stands  well  in  his 
profession,  give  him  no  time  to  practice  outside 
the  church.  If  you  need  a  house-girl,  or  a  field* 
hand,  make  your  selection  from  the  church. 
And  the  church  will  see  to  it  that  its  members 
'take  no  thought  for  to-morrow.'  When  the 
church  becomes  a  fraternal  order — and  more 
than  this,  an  insurance  company — individual 
members  will  have  as  little  anxiety  about  the 
future  as  the  birds  and  the  lilies  have." 

Yes,  indeed,  the  little  church  thrived,  as  I 
said.  But  there  came  a  change.  If  there  had 
not,  then  I  should  never  have  written  this  story. 


CHAPTER  II 
The  Church  has  a  Boom 

Yes,  our  little  church  had  a  boom.  It  was 
like  a  devastating  cyclone,  sweeping  away  fel- 
lowship and  humility  and  peace  and  content. 
Hope  Valley  Corners  changed  its  name  to  New 
Rome  City — and  a  city  it  became  in  a  flash.  In 
less  than  a  year  after  the  first  corner4ot  was 
sold  for  a  fabulous  sum,  there  were  built  grand 
churches  and  residences  and  magnificent  halls. 
Architecture  became  the  mania.  Our  little 
meeting-house  was  moved  from  the  old  site  to 
the  outer  circumference  of  the  city.  The  lot 
upon  which  it  had  stood  was  wanted  by  the 
owner  for  a  bank ;  and  besides,  the  house  itself 
was  not  suitable  from  the  standpoint  of  boom 
times.  Not  but  that  it  was  large  enough,  but  it 
had  "  no  style." 

Several  of  our  church  members  became  sud- 
denly rich — or  were  considered  so,  which  is  about 
the  same  thing — and  it  dawned  upon  our  people 
that  we  must  have  a  new  building. 

John  suggested  that  we  build  a  sort  of  taber- 
nacle, or  people's  church — a  "God's  House," 
which  should  stand  for  no  particular  creed;  a 

15  . 


The  Church  has  a  Boom 

landmark  on  the  road  to  heaven.  It  was  John's 
dream  to  do  away  with  creed  and  sect.  But  our 
people  were  suddenly  bent  upon  an  edifice  of 
denominational  caste;  nothing  else  would  satisfy 
them.  They  were  also  determined  to  rival  their 
fellow  churches — not  in  goodness  and  meekness 
and  love  and  helpfulness  and  the  other  spirit- 
ual graces,  but  in  the  splendor  of  their  sanctuary. 

"Oh,  the  hollownessof  it  all,"  John  said,  "  the 
worldliness;  the  church  making  of  herself  a  side= 
show  in  Vanity  Fair!"  The  true  house  is  within 
us;  architecture  cannot  wall  it  in,  nor  masonry 
deceive  as  to  the  true  character  of  it. 

When  the  committee  canvassed  the  flock  for 
funds,  the  ready  cash  fell  far  short  of  the  esti- 
mated cost.  There  were  "  subscriptions,"  how- 
ever, dependent  upon  sales,  and  pocketf  uls  upon 
pocketfuls  of  promises.  John  warned  the  com- 
mittee, lovingly  at  first;  firmly,  and  fairly  pro- 
testing, at  last,  but  to  no  avail.  There  were 
some  that  stood  with  him,  but  the  majority  ruled 
in  the  matter,  and  the  new  church  was  con- 
tracted for.  In  the  end  it  was  twenty  thousand 
dollars  in  debt. 

What  a  change  came  over  the  members,  or  the 
most  of  them!  They  kept  up  the  show  of  wor- 
ship, but  the  spirit  of  it  was  not  there. 

In  the  strife  for  wealth  consequent  upon  the 
boom,  brother  deceived  brother,  and  each  sought 
16 


The  Church  has  a  Boom 

to  outwit  the  other  in  bargain  and  sale.  To  get 
the  best  in  a  business  transaction,  in  short,  to 
defraud,  was  a  common  thing.  But  these  men 
went  to  church  and  sat  upon  their  unpaid-for 
velvet  cushions  and  sang  and  joined  in  the 
Lord's  Prayer  and — oh,  for  the  shame  of  it! — they 
even  took  the  bread  and  wine.  Judas,  one  out 
of  twelve,  betrayed  the  Lord  with  a  kiss — there 
was  scarcely  one  out  of  twelve  in  our  church 
who  did  not  put  his  lips  to  the  sacrament,  go 
out  among  his  fellows,  and  deny  his  Lord! 

To  keep  up  appearances,  John's  salary  was 
raised  to  double  what  it  had  been.  But  when 
it  came  to  the  quarterly  payment  it  actually  fell 
far  short  of  the  old  stipend.  The  amount  stip- 
ulated was  published,  however,  in  true  boom 
style;  and  John,  like  a  corner4ot,  was  rated  at 
a  fictitious  value.  Other  churches  paid  high 
salaries,  or  published  high  salaries,  and  ours 
was  not  to  be  outdone. 

As  I  said  in  the  first  place,  the  church  out- 
grew John.  And  yet  everybody  loved  John. 
He  preached  the  same  simple,  plain  sermons 
which  he  had  always  preached.  Coming  from 
anybody  but  John  they  would  not  have  been 
tolerated.  Nothing  else  was  expected  from  him; 
he  was  too  sincere  to  be,  or  seem  other  than 
he  was.  Yet  we  could  see  that  he  did  not  always 
please. 

17 


The  Church  has  a  Boom 

A  good  many  rich  people  joined  the  church, 
by  letter  and  otherwise,  naturally  enough;  it 
was  so  much  more  stylish  than  any  of  the 
others.  Some  of  the  more  common  members, 
who  did  not  care  for  style,  quietly  withdrew  to 
smaller  churches.  I  do  not  mean  to  say  that 
rich  men,  as  we  found  them,  were  always  hollow 
and  artificial  when  it  came  to  actual  facts.  But 
wealth,  as  a  rule,  does  seek  its  kind;  hence  we 
find  caste.  I  have  noticed  that  the  little  plain 
churches  are  filled  with  little  plain  people,  for 
no  other  reason,  perhaps,  than  that  little  fish  are 
in  little  pools;  they  feel  more  at  home.  It  is  as 
much  caste  on  the  part  of  the  poor  as  on  the 
part  of  the  rich.  They  will  separate,  these  on 
this  side  and  those  on  that.  I  wish  it  were  not 
so,  and  yet  I  see  no  way  of  changing  the  order, 
save  to  adopt  a  church  garb  or  uniform.  I 
think  dress  does  more  than  anything  else  to 
separate  the  rich  from  the  poor  in  the  house  of 
God. 

After  a  while,  "owing  to  circumstances  over 
which  we  had  no  control,"  we  were  actually  in 
need  of  the  necessaries  of  life,  though  we  did 
not  mention  it.  Little  by  little  we  used  our 
savings  which  we  had  laid  by  when  John 
preached  in  the  old  church  before  the  boom. 
We  felt  sorry,  but  John  felt  sorrier  for  his  peo- 
ple. They  had  a  great  burden  to  bear.  They 

18 


The  Church  has  a  Boom 

must  keep  up  appearances  in  the  new  church. 
The  interest  on  the  debt  was  high,  and  there 
were  improvements  constantly  to  be  made. 
Subscribers  to  the  cost  of  it  all  moved  away,  or 
for  other  reasons  failed  to  keep  their  word. 

I  had  one  consolation  in  our  trouble,  for,  as  I 
said,  "everybody  loved  John."  I  believed  that 
it  was  only  from  necessity  that  they  failed  to 
pay  him,  or  hinted  that  he  could  not  be  retained 
another  year.  This  is  what  they  said,  and  why 
should  I  doubt  their  word,  especially  when  they 
prefaced  their  tears  by  assuring  me  how  much 
they  "loved  John?"  "The  necessities  of  the 
case,"  they  said,  "  the  necessities  of  the  case  de- 
mand a  change." 

In  some  vague  way  I  was  impressed  with 
their  sincerity,  and  I  wish  I  had  never  come  to 
disbelieve  them. 

After  a  while  we  came  to  understand.  The 
church  wanted  a  preacher  with  a  "record"  be- 
hind him  like  a  trotting-horse  or  a  fast=time 
engine.  One  who  had  shone  in  New  York  or 
London  or  Chicago,  as  pastor  of  some  "  tony " 
church;  one  who  would  "cover  a  multitude  of 
sins,"  especially  such  trifling  sins  as  beset  our 
church.  They  wanted  a  minister  whose  dis- 
courses would  be  flowery  and  sparkling  with 
imagination;  who  would  choose  a  text  occasion- 
ally from  somewhere  outside  of  the  Bible,  and 
19 


The  Church  has  a  Boom 

also  indulge  in  "  lovely  quotations  from  the 
poets." 

Now  John  quoted  poetry,  but  his  was  not  the 
sort  to  please  under  the  circumstances.  Taste, 
in  our  church,  had  become  suddenly  esthetic. 
Then,  too,  our  people  thought  that  a  minister 
who  had  traveled  would  be  "drawing."  Lec- 
tures on  foreign  lands  and  customs  are  so  "  tak- 
ing "  on  Sunday  evenings,  especially  in  a  popu- 
lar church.  They  could  postpone  the  saving  of 
the  world  and  the  new  birth  of  individuals  un- 
til the  church  debt  was  paid. 

Pending  a  call  to  someone  else,  John 
preached  on,  and  it  was  not  known  outside  that 
it  was  his  last  year.  That  last  year  was  a  hard 
one  for  us.  The  sense  of  being  wronged  by 
brethren;  indignation  at  insults  degrading  to 
us  and  to  the  name  of  religion;  the  acceptance 
of  charity  in  the  place  of  justice,  and  alms  in 
lieu  of  our  rights — all  this  made  me,  at  least, 
dissatisfied. 

I  would  have  had  John  leave  at  once  and  let 
the  church  "  hoe  its  own  row,"  but  John  said, 
"  No."  He  would  stay  as  long  as  they  wanted 
him,  and  he  might  keep  them  from  greater  mis- 
takes. The  Spirit  of  the  Master  was  more  at 
home  with  John  than  with  me. 

Besides  all  this  moral  burden  our  physical 
want  was  fast  bordering  on  distress.  This  was 

20 


The  Church  has  a  Boom 

soon  known  to  enough  of  our  friends  if  they 
had  but  felt  the  exigencies  of  it.  It  is  hard  to 
excuse  this  lack  of  justice  on  the  part  of  our 
church.  A  boom  in  any  church  or  city  destroys 
moral  susceptibilities.  Demands  having  legal 
claims  behind  them  are  considered  first.  Such 
demands  were  many  and  pressing  in  our  town 
and  on  our  people.  They  did  not  mean  to  rob 
John,  nor  to  use  for  other  purposes  the  money 
that  was  his.  They  forgot  their  contract  with 
him  and,  had  they  stopped  to  think,  they  would 
have  known  he  would  not  press  his  claim  in 
law.  He  was  at  their  mercy.  "  Personal  busi- 
ness cares  and  church  liabilities"  were  their  ex- 
cuses, though  no  excuse  was  made  to  John. 
The  subject  was  avoided. 

21 


CHAPTER  III 

The  Church  Gives  Us  a  Pound 
Party  and  a  Missionary  Box 

Some  trifling  incidents,  by  way  of  doubt- 
ful apology,  occurred  about  this  time,  which  did 
not  mend  matters  a  great  deal.  The  members 
strove  hard,  in  their  way,  to  keep  up  a  show  of 
good  feeling.  They  attempted  to  smooth  the 
irregularities  of  the  way  by  methods  well  known 
to  the  church  at  large.  For  instance,  one  even- 
ing, without  previous  announcement  to  us,  they 
came  to  our  house  in  a  body,  cheerful  to  hilar- 
ity. They  constituted  what  is  termed  a  "pound 
party"  and  spent  the  evening  in  forced  good 
nature.  They  brought  flour,  and  bacon,  and 
sugar,  and  dried  apples,  and  potatoes,  and  tea, 
and  canned  salmon,  and  pickles,  and  yeast,  and 
bologna  sausage,  and  cheese,  and  bread,  and  pie, 
and  cake.  Just  as  relief  committees  carry  bas- 
kets of  supplies  to  the  destitute. 

Now  we  were  well-nigh  destitute,  to  be  sure, 
but  that  was  the  fault  of  these  very  people. 
They  owed  John,  and  they  took  this  way  of  pay- 
ing the  debt.  It  was  like  saying,  "  God  bless 
23 


A  Pound  Party 

you,"  to  one's  grocer  and  butcher  and  hired 
girl,  and  expecting  them  to  smile  and  take  the 
will  for  the  deed,  and  so  consider  the  account 
square. 

John  and  I  tried  to  be  hospitable  and  to  join 
in  the  merrymaking,  but  we  were  too  much 
taken  by  surprise  to  act  our  part  to  perfection. 
I  suppose  we  were  considered  ungrateful.  Evi- 
dently John  was  expected  to  make  sweet  and 
witty  speeches  over  the  packages  and  bags  of 
provisions,  but  if  he  had  such  a  thought  as  to 
say,  "  For  what  we  receive  make  us  truly  thank- 
ful," he  broke  down  before  he  began.  We 
would  so  much  rather  have  had  the  money 
which  the  things  cost  in  the  first  place,  little  as 
it  was. 

It  had  now  been  five  months  since  John  had 
received  a  dollar.  I  was  overworked  with  such 
duties  as  I  had  hired  done  before,  and  there 
were  two  babies — blessed  babies ! — to  nurse.  I  do 
not  know  that  I  ever  saw  John  really  indignant 
but  once  that  year,  and  that  was  not  personal 
resentment,  I  am  sure,  but  abhorrence  of  the 
principle.  He  overheard  a  remark  which  one 
lady  made  to  another,  signifying  that  "  ministers 
owe  it  to  their  churches  to  have  small  families." 

John  preached  a  sermon  the  following  Sunday 
on  the  text,  "  Lo,  children  are  a  heritage  of  the 
Lord,  and  the  fruit  of  the  womb  is  his  reward." 


A  Pound  Party 

He  dwelt  particularly  upon  the  word  "  herit- 
age "  as  meaning  "  an  estate  bequeathed,  real 
property,  or  personal  ownership  of  what  is  valu- 
able." "  Ill-health,  lonely  and  childless  old  age, 
remorse,  the  sting  of  memory,  the  sharp  re- 
proach of  a  thousand  things,  all  combine  to 
form  a  heritage  such  as,  though  terrible,  is  en- 
tailed upon  modern  regulators  of  families." 

It  was  one  of  his  plainest  sermons,  striking  at 
the  root  of  domestic  evils,  and  laying  bare  the 
sins  of  parental  responsibility,  until  those  of  his 
hearers  whose  faces  did  not  burn,  turned  pale 
with  an  unwonted  sense  of  guilt:  "Woman  has 
been  the  cause  of  her  own  misery  ever  since 
Eve  transgressed.  Some  men  call  the  story  of 
Eden  a  myth.  Be  that  as  it  may,  woman's  own 
hand  has  pressed  to  her  lips  the  bitter  fruit  of 
all  ages,  although  she  still  has  little  excuse  and 
lays  the  fault  to  her  '  constitution '  or  to  her 
'sphere,'  as  Eve  laid  it  to  the  serpent.  She 
plots  and  conspires  against  human  life  in  the 
days  of  her  youth,  and  when  age  and  sorrow 
whiten  her  hair  she  weeps  that  the  cell  of  the 
murderer  is  never  empty.  She  herself  built  the 
scaffold  for  her  posterity  while  they  were  yet  un- 
born, and  she  is  chilled  to  the  heart  at  last  by 
her  own  deeds."  John  said  to  me  afterward 
that  that  sermon  had  been  on  his  mind  for  a 
24 


A  Pound  Party 

long  while,  and  that  the  feeling  of  years  had 
found  expression. 

"  But  John,"  I  said,  "  I  am  afraid  you  were  too 
plain,  especially  as  there  were  a  good  many 
really  delicate  ladies  present  who  looked  hurt 
and  shocked  at  what  you  said.  Society  de- 
mands reticence  upon  certain  points,  and  you 
know,  John,  one  should  not  offend  real  refine- 
ment." 

John  made  me  no  reply,  and  I  did  not  know 
until  years  afterward  that  it  was  one  of  those 
same  "  delicate  ladies  "  to  whom  I  had  referred 
who  had  made  the  remark,  in  John's  hearing, 
that  "  ministers  owe  it  to  their  churches  to  have 
small  families." 

It  was  not  long  after  the  "  pound  party  "  that 
a  box  was  left  at  our  door  directed  to  John, 
"  freight  payable  on  delivery."  We  managed  to 
pay  the  bill  by  borrowing  from  the  children's 
little  tin  banks,  we  not  being  flush  of  money, 
and  we  wondered  what  it  could  be  that  was  in 
the  box. 

We  opened  it,  breathless,  thinking  of  far- 
away friends  to  whom  we  had  no  reason  to  look 
for  gifts.  It  would  take  a  good  while  for  me  to 
run  through  with  the  list.  It  was  a  collection 
of  secondhand  raiment  solicited  for  destitute 
ministers  and  retired  missionaries.  How  it 

25 


A  Pound  Party 

came  to  be  sent  to  us  we  never  knew,  but  prob- 
ably it,  like  the  pound  party,  came  of  good  in- 
tentions. 

There  were  shirts  and  hose  for  John,  worn 
thin  and  needing  repairs.  There  was  an  over- 
coat, which  might  have  come  over  with  the  Pil- 
grim Fathers,  so  antiquated  and  threadbare  it 
was;  besides,  it  was  made  to  fit  a  man  twice 
John's  size.  Then  there  were  some  old  dresses 
with  the  buttons  and  trimmings  ripped  off;  some 
white  cotton  skirts  with  ragged  lace  on  the  bot- 
tom, and  two  old  bonnets;  some  gloves  with 
the  fingers  cut  off,  suggesting  "  mitts,"  and  a  par- 
asol. There  were  some  frayed  old  blankets,  too, 
through  whose  thin  middle  I  could  distinctly 
see  John's  face  as  I  held  them  up  before  him 
and  the  window. 

We  had  endured  much,  but  this  swelled  the 
torrent  of  my  feelings  beyond  high=water  mark. 
The  stream  gushed  with  the  impetus  of  a  tide 
in  springtime  when  the  snow  is  melting,  and  I 
did  not  even  try  to  control  the  flood. 

To  stand  by  and  see  John  insulted  like  this! 
John,  who  was  the  height  of  a  man  above  every 
other  man  in  the  community  in  what  best 
makes  a  man!  John,  who  could  have  com- 
manded thousands  in  either  of  the  professions, 
but  who  chose  to  preach  the  Gospel  as  the  best 
means  of  restoring  a  sick  world! — all  this  for  a 
36 


A  Pound  Party 

sum  that  at  its  best  only  meant  comfortable 
support.  Oh,  I  was  indignant! 

"  What  are  ministers  made  of,"  I  exclaimed, 
"  that  they  and  their  families  should  be  insulted 
in  this  way?  Ministers  who  are  earning  an 
honest  living  if  the  church  itself,  clothed  in 
scarlet  and  fine  linen,  would  but  pay  its  debts! 
Ministers  whose  sense  of  personal  independence 
is  as  natural  and  therefore  as  right  as  that  of 
any  other  man!  Who  ever  thinks  of  meeting 
his  obligations  at  the  bank  with  old  clothes? 
Who  pays  his  lawyer's  fees  with  secondhand 
coats  and  stockings,  and  who  meets  his  grocers' 
claims  with  pound  parties?  Who  but  a  minis- 
ter would  see  his  wife  rigged  out  in  other 
women's  finery?"  Thus  I  went  on  until  I  was 
ashamed  of  my  temper,  and  John  said  I 
"  mustn't  scold." 

He  took  up  the  babies,  one  on  either  shoul- 
der, and  marched  around  the  room  singing 
"Old  Hundred"  as  only  John  can  sing  it. 
After  a  while  I  laughed  as  heartily  as  I  had 
scolded — and  John  joined  in,  the  whole  thing 
was  so  ludicrous. 

John  says  "  when  a  man  laughs  at  trouble  .the 
trouble  laughs  too  and  turns  into  a  sprite  to  fly 
away."  I  would  have  had  John  wear  the  Pil- 
grim Father  overcoat  to  church,  but  he 
wouldn't.  I  did  what  was  almost  as  bad,  though, 

27 


A  Pound  Party 

and  John  didn't  object.  I  laid  the  things  all 
out  in  array  on  the  parlor  sofa  and  showed  them 
to  everybody  that  came  in,  saying:  "  See  what  a 
present  came  to  us  the  other  day !"  It  was  won- 
derful, the  amount  of  good  healthy  color  that 
found  its  way  into  the  cheeks  of  my  callers. 
And  I  was  as  unconscious  of  their  embarrass- 
ment as  could  be,  of  course;  indeed,  I  was  never 
in  better  spirits.  John  said  the  affair  was 
worth  what  it  cost  for  its  effect  upon  me.  It 
was  like  some  unpalatable  medicine  toning  me 
up  after  a  year's  moral  illness. 

It  was  not  long  afterward  that  we  read  in 
the  daily  paper  a  paragraph  something  like  this: 
"  It  is  with  profound  regret  that  we  learn  of  the 

resignation  of  the  Rev.  John  — ,  pastor 

of  the  First  Street  Church,  New  Rome  City. 
He  has  served  that  body  for  five  years,  during 
which  time  he  has  given  entire  satisfaction. 
He  leaves  a  salary  of  two  thousand  dollars  and 
a  warm-hearted  people.  Failing  health  is  the 
cause  of  his  resignation." 

John  and  I  looked  at  each  other  in  conster- 
nation. John's  health  was  perfect.  He  had 
never  had  "  a  sick  day  in  his  life,"  as  the  say- 
ing is.  And  John  never  "  resigned."  Why 
this  story  was  ever  concocted  I  leave  it  with 
the  officers  of  the  First  Street  Church  to  ex- 

28 


I    LAID    THE    THINGS    ALL    OUT    IN    ARRAY    ON    THE 
PARLOR    SOFA. 


A  Pound  Party 

plain.      Was  it  for  John's  sake  or  their  own 
that  they  covered  the  real  truth? 

John  was  astonished.  He  did  not  say  a  word, 
but  I  knew  he  was  thinking  of  the  church. 
Visions  of  the  old  days  in  Hope  Valley  came  to 
him,  when  the  congregation  touched  elbows 
and  hearts  in  the  little  drug-store  hall.  He 
would  have  helped  his  people  over  this  last  hill, 
Difficulty,  though  his  own  feet  were  torn  in  the 
ascent. 

29 


CHAPTER  IV 
John's  Views  of  Church  Debt 

As  the  time  drew  near  when  John  must 
preach  his  farewell  sermon,  I  felt  bad.  I  didn't 
let  John  know  it,  though.  I  would  not  add  a 
crushed  straw  to  his  heavy  load.  John  himself 
was  not  sad— that  is,  not  gloomy.  He  has 
always  said  that  no  personal  trial,  save  death 
and  sin,  ought  to  make  a  Christian  sad — not 
even  the  loss  of  all  his  property. 

I  often  told  him  that  "  the  natural  tempera- 
ment has  everything  to  do  with  it." 

"  Not  everything,"  he  would  answer.  "  Man 
is  born  ignorant  and  helpless.  Knowledge  and 
self -reliance  are  foreign  to  the  child  and  must 
be  grafted  upon  him.  Cheerfulness  should  be 
grafted  into  him  also,  and  serenity.  The  more 
faith  grows,  the  more  ought  good  cheer  to 
grow.  Peace  is  only  another  word  for  happi- 
ness." 

One  of  John's  favorite  quotations  is  this: 
"  Wisdom's  ways  are  ways  of  pleasantness." 
He  says:  "  The  more  wisdom,  the  more  pleasant- 
ness, but  men  neglect  the  one  in  striving  for 
the  other;  growing  morose  and  unsociable  and 

30 


John's  Views  of  Church  Debt 

self-absorbed  in  the  determination  to  be  wise, 
forgetting  that  real  wisdom  only  travels  in 
pleasant  ways." 

St.  Paul  said  of  his  church:  "I  know  that 
after  my  departing  shall  grievous  wolves  enter 
in  among  you  not  sparing  the  flock."  In  the 
case  of  our  church  the  "grievous  wolves"  had 
already  entered.  Looking  back  over  it  all  now, 
I  can  see  how  gradually  they  had  crept  in, 
stealthily  creeping  through  the  openings  in  the 
wall,  slily  finding  a  way  through  the  partly 
open  gate,  making  no  disturbance,  and  attack- 
ing no  one  in  the  guise  of  a  wolf. 

Greed  was  the  first  to  enter.  Its  coming  was 
so  sudden  that  it  was  running  all  around  among 
the  flock  before  the  sheep  recognized  it.  In  a 
short  while  it  had  grown  so  familiar,  and 
seemed  so  gentle,  that  the  sheep  ceased  to  flee 
from  it,  but  allowed  it  to  feed  in  the  very  best 
part  of  the  pasture.  The  Lord  knew  human 
nature  best  when  He  said:  "  It  is  easier  for  a 
camel  to  go  through  the  eye  of  a  needle  than 
for  a  rich  man  to  enter  into  the  kingdom." 
Rich  men,  like  the  camel,  have  a  hump  on  the 
back,  and  they  must  stoop  low  or  graze  the 
hump.  Unlike  the  camel,  however,  the  rich 
man  is  not  used  to  stooping;  he  will  enter  up- 
right, grasping  his  hump  with  both  hands  and 
never  letting  go,  unless  perchance  some  fellow* 

31 


John's  Views  of  Church  Debt 

traveler,  forcing  his  way  amid  the  throng, 
knocks  it  off.  The  trouble  is  not  with  the 
hump.  The  camel  goes  in  before  the  rich  man 
because  he  kneels. 

In  the  church  are  men  who  seek  for  riches 
day  and  night;  men  upon  whom  riches  are 
thrust  by  inheritance,  or  by  sudden  rise  in 
values,  and  men  who  imagine  they  have  riches. 
These  last  are  the  worst  in  church  or  state,  for, 
counting  on  what  they  expect,  they  multiply 
what  they  do  possess  beyond  reason.  They 
build  mansions,  paying  for  them  in  promises  at 
a  rate  of  interest  as  enormous  as  the  promises; 
and,  to  be  consistent,  they  build  churches  as 
luxurious  as  their  homes,  paying  for  them  also 
in  promises.  Then  "  My  Father's  House  is  a 
house  of  merchandise,"  indeed.  In  it  the  white 
doves  of  peace  and  brotherly  love  are  sold  for 
a  farthing's  worth  of  pretension. 

John  said  that  in  those  years  he  had  had  his 
first  experience  in  church  debt,  and  he  would 
never  have  a  second.  "  Debt,"  he  said,  "  is  a 
millstone  around  the  neck  of  the  church  and 
of  every  individual  member,  though,  sooner  or 
later,  by  dint  of  hard  struggles,  they  nearly  al- 
ways emerge  and  limp  disabled  up  the  bank, 
dripping  with  the  tide  of  jealousy  and  discon- 
tent." 

There  are  men,  usually  worn-out   ministers, 

82 


John's  Views  of  Church  Debt 

whose  one  talent  lies  in  paying  off  church 
debts.  They  are  sent  for  far  and  near  like  a 
quack  doctor,  and  they  hold  meetings  and  give 
"chalk  talks"  and  emblazon  blackboards  with 
figures,  doing  sums  for  pupils  already  far  ad- 
vanced in  "  partial  payments."  There  is  never 
a  word  said  about  the  calamity  of  church  debt 
The  speaker  smiles  perpetually,  and  before  they 
know  it  all  his  auditors  are  smiling.  Four 
per  cent,  of  the  debt  is  wiped  out  in  an  hour 
and  the  "  talented  man"  hies  him  to  other  fields 
to  smile  again. 

He  ought  to  weep.  If  he  would  but  give  his 
attention  to  warding  off  church  debts  instead  of 
paying  them  off  he  would  do  the  kingdom  of 
God  a  greater  favor.  "  Owe  no  man  anything 
but  to  love  one  another."  What  a  preface  to 
church  creeds  this  would  be! 

Once  in  debt,  a  church  is  never  on  the  old 
footing.  There  are  bitter  losses  to  bear,  for- 
tunes of  good  feeling  squandered  in  a  day,  and 
good  feeling  is  scarcer  and  more  precious  than 
gold. 

Each  thinks  his  church^fellow  should  pay 
more  than  he  does.  Another  murmurs  because 
in  his  stress  of  circumstances  he  is  forced  or 
expected  to  pay  anything.  Yet  another  abso- 
lutely refuses  to  pay  any  part  of  a  debt  which 
he  had  "  no  hand  in  contracting." 
S3 


John's  Views  of  Church  Debt 

"Church^debt  committees"  call  at  irregular 
times  upon  the  members  to  urge  the  payment  of 
a  sum  "to  meet  at  least  the  interest  on  the  debt." 
Usually  the  members  of  the  committee  are  rich, 
but  they  are  loath  to  meet  more  than  they  can 
possibly  help  of  the  obligation.  "  Besides,"  they 
argue,  "  it  is  right  for  each  and  all  to  bear  a  part." 
They  drive  up  to  the  door  of  the  delinquent 
member,  shake  hands  stiffly,  smile  sadly,  in- 
quire after  the  family  with  enforced  interest,  say 
something  as  to  the  weather  or  town  prospects, 
and  hesitate  a  good  while  before  getting  at  the 
business  in  hand. 

The  host  knows  by  intuition  the  errand  of 
his  visitor  and  helps  him  not  out  of  his  em- 
barrassment by  so  much  as  a  distant  allusion  to 
the  subject  in  both  minds.  Does  he  not  know 
that  he  would  never  have  received  a  call  from 
his  church  brother  but  for  the  fact  that  the 
brother  wants  gold?  When,  at  length,  the  sub- 
ject is  approached,  and  the  brother  called  upon 
yields  his  pittance,  there  is  no  fellow- feeling, 
unless  it  be  one  of  hardness.  The  committee- 
man  thinks  that  the  amount  given  should  have 
exceeded  the  actual  gift,  and  the  other  wishes 
he  "hadn't  given  anything."  So  do  "  grievous 
wolves  "  spoil  the  flock. 

Oh,  John  and  I  grew  intimate  with  the  whole 
aspect  of  church  debt  during  those  years,  and 
34 


CHURCH-DEBT   COMMITTEE'S    CALL 


John's  Views  of  Church  Debt 

John  declared  he  would  never  preach  for  a  con- 
gregation  that  assumed  such  a  burden.  He 
used  to  say  that  "  if  all  ministers  would  bind 
themselves  to  such  a  resolve,  church  debt  would 
soon  be  a  feature  of  the  dark  ages  in  church 
history." 

85 


CHAPTER  V 

The  Pew  System  as  it  was  Worked 
in  Our  Church 

I  think  that  of  all  the  sad  consequences  of 
church  debt,  that  was  the  saddest  which  com- 
pelled the  pew  system.  It  was  so  hard  to  make 
collections  that  the  officers  declared  themselves 
in  favor  of  renting  the  pews.  John  pleaded 
with  them  to  no  avail.  Once  made  desperate 
by  church  debt,  everything  was  subservient  to 
its  demands.  So  the  pews  were  sold. 

There  was  not  any  church  auction  proper, 
but  the  pews  were  sold  to  the  highest  bidder  in 
a  quiet  way.  An  imaginary  line  was  drawn 
around  the  auditorium.  In  this  circle  pews 
were  worth  three  hundred;  in  that,  one  hundred 
and  fifty;  in  the  other,  seventyfive;  and  so  on 
down,  until  far  back  under  the  gallery  there  was 
no  price  attached. 

All  this,  of  course,  encouraged  church  caste. 
There  were  first-class,  second*class,  and  third= 
class  members,  and  "  strays."  I  do  not  mean 
to  say  that  there  was  a  visible  label  or  tag 
to  each,  but  a  stranger  could  have  guessed 
where  the  line  of  demarcation  was  drawn. 

36 


The  Pew  System 

The  "four  hundred"  had  the  best  seats,  right 
in  front  of  the  pulpit,  in  the  middle  of  the  beau- 
tiful house.  Overhead  the  cherubs  and  mighty 
angels  flying  through  imaginary  space  poised 
exactly  above  them. 

Under  solitary  frescoed  stars,  without  guardian 
angels,  sat  the  second=class  members.  Above 
them  was  the  plainer  slope  of  the  arching  dome. 

There  were  four  ushers  appointed  to  seat  the 
congregation.  Two  of  these  were  for  the  middle 
section,  or  first-class  neighborhood,  and  were  se- 
lected from  the  four  hundred's  own  number. 
They  took  care  to  seat  the  splendidly  dressed  own- 
ers of  the  front  pews  who,  coming  early  or  late, 
were  sure  to  find  their  seats  unoccupied.  That 
is,  they  hardly  ever  found  them  occupied.  The 
ushers,  who  understood  their  business,  kept  an 
eye  on  the  church  doors,  and  when  strangers  ap- 
peared who  had  the  unmistakable  air  of  aristoc- 
racy they  were  ushered  down  to  the  proper 
neighborhood.  There  was  cheerful  room  made 
for  such. 

The  other  two  ushers  were  for  the  second  and 
third=class  sections. 

John  refused  a  seat  for  his  own  family  which 
was  courteously  tendered  to  us  in  the  middle,  or 
first-class  circle.  We  preferred  to  sit  well  back 
under  the  gallery.  That  suited  me  well  enough, 
for  I  was  silently  studying  human  nature  as 
37 


The  Pew  System 

one  finds  it  in  church.  The  whole  panorama 
glides  before  me  now  after  the  lapse  of  so  many 
years,  and  nobody  will  guess  whom  I  mean  if  I 
speak  their  names  right  out. 

In  walks  neighbor  Smith  followed  by  his  wife 
and  children,  confidently  expecting  to  find  their 
own  pew  empty  and  ready  for  them.  They 
pause  at  the  entrance  to  find  it  already  occupied. 
Each  of  the  family  casts  a  questioning  glance 
up  and  down  the  pew,  as  much  as  to  say,  "  This  is 
our  seat.  How  came  you  in  it?''  The  embar- 
rassed occupants  try  to  make  room  for  the  real 
owners  of  the  pew,  but  the  Smith's  walk  away 
to  some  other  locality,  looking  askance  at  the 
usher  whose  fault  has  brought  all  this  trouble. 
The  usher  himself  is  embarrassed.  He  had  to 
seat  the  strangers  somewhere,  or  tell  them  to  go 
on  to  the  next  church. 

Mrs.  Jones  comes  down  the  aisle  and  shows 
her  perturbation  so  emphatically  at  finding 
strangers  in  her  pew  that  the  strangers  gather 
up  their  shawls  and  hats  and  step  politely  out. 
Mrs.  Jones  settles  herself  comfortably  in  the 
seat  just  vacated.  Isn't  it  her  pew,  and  hasn't 
she  paid  a  good  round  sum  for  it? 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Brown  are  looking  over  the  floor 
plan  of  the  house,  pinned  in  place  on  the  outer 
door  of  the  vestibule.  The  prices  of  the  pews 
are  plainly  marked.  Mr.  Brown  is  just  a  com- 


MRS.    JONES    SHOWS    HER    PERTURBATION. 


The  Pew  System 

mon  man,  is  not  rich,  pays  his  debts,  and  goes 
to  church.  There  is  quite  a  family  of  children 
and  they  have  always  filled  a  whole  seat  before 
the  pew  system  had  its  day.  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Brown  read  the  price  of  the  sittings  and  one 
says,  with  a  sigh,  "  Well,  I  guess  three  sittings 
will  do  for  us.  We  needn't  all  come  to  church 
at  the  same  time,  and  twenty-five  dollars  is  all 
we  are  able  to  pay  just  now."  Not  one  of  the 
church  officers  ever  says  to  Mr.  Brown,  "  Why 
don't  you  bring  the  whole  family?  Come  right 
in  and  feel  at  home.  There's  room  enough;  we 
want  the  whole  of  you  here."  If  the  officers  say 
anything,  it  is  in  a  side  whisper  to  the  effect 
that  "if  Mr.  Brown  wants  more  room  he  can 
rent  the  whole  pew." 

And  this  is  the  church  of  Christ! 

John  says  there  always  has  been  an  inclination 
in  the  human  heart  to  get  the  best  seat.  For  in- 
stance, ther,e  was  the  Mother  of  Zebedee's  chil- 
dren. She  wanted  her  two  sons  to  have  front 
seats  in  the  church  of  the  New  Jerusalem.  So 
she  came  to  Jesus,  thinking  that  he  would  have 
charge  of  the  pews  up  there,  and  asked  a  special 
favor  of  him:  "Grant  that  these,  my  two  sons, 
may  sit  the  one  on  thy  right  hand  and  the  other 
on  thy  left,  in  thy  kingdom."  She  knew  better 
than  to  ask  for  more  than  two  sittings  in  that 
part  of  the  house.  She  and  Zebedee  could  "  take 

39 


The  Pew  System 

a  turn  about  with  the  boys,"  she  thought,  and 
"  there  couldn't  be  any  better  place  in  the  house." 
It  was  just  such  a  location  as  she  wanted. 

The  reply  of  the  Lord  was  something  like 
this:  "Sittings  are  not  mine  to  give.  Pews  are 
not  sold  in  the  kingdom  of  heaven.  The  Father 
will  give  you  a  seat  if  so  be  you  are  prepared,  or 
enter  in,  desiring  a  place." 

St.  James  understood  the  pew  system  when 
he  instructed  the  ushers  in  his  church  as  to  their 
duties.  "  If  there  come  into  your  assembly  (or 
church)  a  man  with  a  gold  ring  and  goodly  ap- 
parel, and  there  come  in  also  a  poor  man  in  vile 
raiment;  and  ye  have  respect  to  him  that  weareth 
the  gay  clothing  and  say  unto  him,  '  Sit  thou 
here  in  a  good  place'  (in  the  middle  section  with 
the  four  hundred)  and  say  to  the  poor  'Stand 
thou  there  or  sit  here '(under  the  gallery)  are  ye 
not  partial  in  yourselves  and  are  become  judges 
of  evil  thoughts?" 

Many  shall  come  from  the  east  and  from  the 
west  and  shall  sit  down  with  Abraham,  Isaac  and 
Jacob.  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Brown  and  their  whole  family  found  room  next 
to  Abraham;  and  the  Wymans,  who  left  our 
church  because  they  couldn't  possibly  pay  for  a 
seat  (though  they  were  offered  one  free  under 
the  gallery  if  they  would  stay)  may  sit  next  to  the 
Patriarch  Jacob,  in  the  Church  of  the  First  Born. 
40 


CHAPTER  VI 

Parting  Scenes 

The  parting  day  arrived.  John,  calm,  earnest, 
entered  the  door  with  me  and  conducted  me  to 
my  seat.  It  was  his  custom  to  go  in  at  the 
people's  door  occasionally.  It  was  one  of  John's 
peculiarities.  He  used  to  say  that  he  got  an  in- 
spiration from  facing  the  pulpit,  if  only  for  a 
moment.  He  liked  a  genial  smile  from  a  friend 
in  the  vestibule  or  a  warm  shake  of  the  hand  as 
he  passed  down  the  aisle.  There  is  sympathy 
in  the  air  while  one  waits  his  turn  at  the  duster 
by  the  outer  door  of  a  summer  morning,  and 
then  grasps  the  handle  of  the  wisp,  warm  from 
the  touch  of  a  friend. 

As  John  passed  up  the  steps  to  the  platform, 
a  sight  met  his  eyes  that  was  unexpected  and 
made  him  hesitate  to  look.  The  whole  house 
was  rilled  with  fruit.  Grapes  on  their  long 
vines  draped  the  stained  windows.  Apples  on 
their  stout  branches  swayed  from  the  pillars. 
Golden  pumpkins,  and  pale  bean  vines,  and 
great  sheaves  of  wheat  and  rye  loaded  the  plat- 
form. Corn,  braided  by  its  husks,  still  undried, 
was  laid  across  the  pulpit  and  trailed  away  down 


Parting  Scenes 

the  aisles.  In  front,  suspended  by  an  invisible 
wire,  was  the  motto,  "  By  their  fruits  ye  shall 
know  them." 

John  understood  it  all — this  more  than  well- 
meant  compliment  to  his  labors.  It  had  been 
done  by  a  few  that  loved  him  and,  now  that  he 
was  actually  going  away,  there  was  much  of  the 
love  of  the  old  times  welling  up  from  hearts  that 
had  suddenly  remembered. 

The  human  heart  is  so  contrary  with  itself.  We 
knew  that  there  was  sincere  sorrow  at  a  depart- 
ure which  had  been  forced  by  "  unavoidable  cir- 
cumstances." 

It  is  always  a  sad  hour  when  a  pastor  says 
"  farewell."  There  are  the  children  over  whose 
tiny  forms  he  has  bowed  and  murmured  "  In  the 
Name  of  the  Father, "  while  as  yet  that  Father's 
touch  was  warm  upon  them.  There  are  the 
"  mated  pairs "  upon  whose  union  the  hand  of 
legal  beatitude  was  laid  by  that  same  pastor.  And 
there  are  those  to  whose  homes  came  the  most 
dreadful  of  all  visitants,  who  were  taught  by 
this  same  pastor  that  hope  is  stronger  than  de- 
spair. Yes,  a  farewell  sermon  is  sad. 

John  was  equal  to  the  occasion  that  day.  He 
hesitated,  changed  color,  glanced  at  the  beauti- 
ful and  generous  display  before  him,  and  then 
with  a  slow  sweep  of  his  splendidly  tearful  eyes 
he  looked  every  one  of  the  great  audience  in  the 

42 


Parting  Scenes 

face.  There  was  not  a  word  spoken  by  him,  nor 
a  rustle  of  sound  among  his  people.  There  was 
the  still  pressing  of  handkerchiefs  to  flowing 
eyes,  and  then  the  whole  congregation  struck  up 
the  old  hymn  which,  like  ancient  treasures  of 
any  sort,  is  rich  because  it  has  been  kept  so 
long — "  When  all  thy  mercies,  O  my  God."  As 
the  "  love  and  praise  "  of  the  last  line  died  away, 
I  began  to  dread  the  sermon.  Farewell  sermons 
are  so  sad;  they  make  people  cry  over  a  minister 
whom  they  never  saw  before. 

Now,  I  knew  perfectly  well  that  John  would 
preach  a  good  sermon.  And  I  knew  just  as  well, 
or  thought  I  did,  what  it  would  be  about. 

I  had  never  heard  John  preach  a  farewell  ser- 
mon, but  I  had  a  great  many  others,  and  had  be- 
come so  familiar  with  their  particular  features 
that  I  believe  I  could  have  delivered  one  myself 
with  perfect  accuracy. 

Usually  John  and  I  talked  over  the  sermons 
beforehand;  but  that  week  I  had  been  so  busy 
packing  and  receiving  calls  that  the  sermon  had 
been  quite  forgotten  by  me.  Speaking  of  calls, 
I  remember  full  well  how  the  house  was  crowded 
all  day  and  far  into  the  evening.  The  neigh- 
bors did  not  come  to  help  me,  nor  to  do  any 
thing  in  particular  but  to  cry.  And  what  they 
were  crying  about  it  would  take  a  philosopher 
to  tell.  If  they  had  spent  some  of  their  tears 
43 


Parting  Scenes 

over  the  delinquent  debt  of  the  church,  and 
thus  have  shown  their  love  for  John;  or  if  they 
had  wept  over  the  fact  that  John  was  not  paid 
his  dues,  then  I  could  have  seen  some  good  in 
their  crying.  But,  now  that  we  were  going 
away,  to  come  and  sit  and  weep  as  if  there  were 
a  coffin  in  the  house;  dropping  in  with  no  inten- 
tion whatever  of  righting  wrongs,  looking  wo- 
ful  and  gloomy,  detaining  me  when  I  was  so 
busy,  staring  into  vacancy  or  my  trunks  as  oc- 
casion offered  — all  this  set  me  to  thinking.  I 
didn't  cry  any,  though  my  visitors  did  their  best 
to  persuade  me. 

Some,  who  wept  most  freely,  I  had  scarcely 
ever  known.  Now  I  do  cry  myself,  sometimes, 
but  never  before  strangers  if  I  can  help  it. 
John  and  I  agree  that  if  one  makes  the  exhibition 
of  emotion  too  common,  feeling  loses  its  effect. 
If  one  sheds  tears  profusely  in  the  presence  of 
strangers  one  naturally  suspects  affectation.  A 
show  of  sorrow  is  sometimes  extorted  by  the 
consideration  of  effect.  In  the  case  of  my  call- 
ers it  was  all  for  effect,  save  in  a  few  instances 
when  old  friends  broke  down  and  my  own  eyes 
were  reluctantly  suffused. 

John  says  there  is  an  abnormal  condition  of 
the  mind  in  some  people,  a  chronic  malady  as  it 
were,  inducing  its  victim  to  seek  opportunities 
for  crying.  Some  crave  sad  emotion,  as  de- 

44 


Parting  Scenes 

ranged  constitutions  crave  chalk  and  blue  clay. 
They  seek  funerals,  and  death-beds,  and  con- 
victs' cells,  and  revival  meetings,  and  retiring 
ministers'  families  for  the  occasion  thus  ob- 
tained to  enjoy  their  favorite  occupation  of 
shedding  tears. 

When  John  reads  this  he  will  say,  "Aren't  we 
uncharitable,  dear?  I  am  afraid  you  will  hurt 
somebody's  feelings;  besides,  you  ought  not  to 
tell  everybody  what  I  say."  And  I  will  an- 
swer, "  O  John,  I  do  not  wish  to  offend  anyone. 
I  wish  to  write  what  is  good  and  true  and  help- 
ful. All  these  things  happened  a  good  while 
ago,  you  know,  and  may  be  they  are  out  of  fash- 
ion by  this  time.  It  may  be  impossible  for  the 
shoe  I  am  cobbling  to  fit  any  modern  foot. 
May  be  people  will  be  interested  to  know  what 
was  the  style  in  churches  before  they  were  born. 
I  don't  make  up  anything,  you  know;  I  write 
just  what  I  can  remember." 

John  will  smile  and  say,  "  Well,  my  dear,  be 
sure  and  write  in  the  past  tense,  then.  You  for- 
get and  say  '  are  '  for  '  were '  and  '  is '  for  '  was.' " 

I  will  try  to  remember,  but  if  I  forget  occa- 
sionally, I  beg  to  be  excused. 

As  I  said,  I  felt  perfectly  sure  what  the  fare- 
well sermon  would  be  like.  It  would  be  the  fa- 
miliar one,  of  course — the  text  taken  from  Acts 
xx.  There  would  be  the  venerable  form  of  St. 

45 


Parting  Scenes 

Paul,  and  the  roar  of  the  sea,  and  the  sobbing 
of  the  tide,  and  the  tears  alike  of  the  people 
and  of  the  briny  deep.  There  would  be  the 
ship  at  anchor  swaying  in  the  blue,  rocking  to 
and  fro  from  sympathy  with  the  mourners  on 
the  shore.  There  would  be  the  sea  birds  drop- 
ping their  wings  at  half-mast,  and  dipping  the 
tips  of  them  in  the  surf  as  if  to  borrow  tears. 
We  should  see  St.  Paul  moving  slowly  down  the 
beach,  pausing  where  the  white  foam  made  no 
contrast  with  his  hair  as  white.  We  should 
hear  him  deliver  that  never-to=be=forgotten  fare- 
well sermon  that  goes  echoing  down  the  ages 
with  its  own  inimitable  pathos.  And  there 
would  come  the  prayer,  when  the  voice  was 
drowned  in  the  depths,  the  words  of  which  we 
shall  never  know  till  the  day  when  the  sea  gives 
up  its  treasures. 

Picture  grand  beyond  description!  Well  was 
it  painted  on  the  shoreless  sea  whose  outward 
horizon  blended  with  the  eternal  sky!  "And 
they  accompanied  him  unto  the  ship,"  as  far  as 
any  of  us  may  accompany  those  we  love.  The 
white  sails  unfurl  and  we  are  left  with  the  bil- 
lows and  our  tears. 

46 


CHAPTER  VII 
John's  Farewell  Sermon 

I  am  sure  the  congregation  were  all  expecting 
that  sermon,  for  they  wept  softly  as  if  to  be 
ready  for  the  sorrowful  climax.  It  was  "  as  still 
as  the  grave,"  so  to  speak,  when  John  arose  and 
opened  the  Bible. 

What  was  my  surprise  when  he  announced 
his  text  to  be  Genesis  vi:  14. 

How  many  thoughts  crowd  into  the  mind  in 
a  few  seconds!  They  are  like  a  vast  throng  of 
passers-by,  not  waiting  for  single  file,  but  push- 
ing and  crowding  themselves  and  jostling  one 
another,  without  order  or  rank.  I  thought  of 
the  great  disappointment  depicted  upon  many 
faces;  of  John's  lost  opportunity  of  making  a 
lasting  impression;  a  personal  impression;  of 
his  apparent  lack  of  sympathy  with  the  sad 
spirit  of  the  hour,  and  of  the  criticism  of  those 
not  in  accord  at  any  time.  I  knew  the  selection 
must  be  some  account  of  the  flood,  and  it  seemed 
so  unfitting.  It  was  like  a  play  announced  to 
be  "  Love's  drama,"  and  when  the  curtain  rose 
presenting  only  sea  and  sky. 

But  these  feelings  of  mine  were  only  for  a  mo- 

47 


John's  Farewell  Sermon 

ment.  My  habitual  confidence  in  John  led  me 
into  serenity.  It  was  so  like  John  to  choose 
the  text  he  did.  I  remembered  how  I  had 
heard  him  say  that  "ministers  have  no  right  to 
carry  their  personal  feelings  into  their  oppor- 
tunities to  preach.  Personal  love,  sorrow, 
pique,  fears,  discontent,  gratitude,  have  no 
place  in  the  pulpit.  When  the  preacher  is  done 
he  will  have  led  his  hearers  away  from  himself 
so  that  they  will  be  conscious  of  nothing  but 
the  message.  The  hearers  may  think  of  them- 
selves, and  burn  with  sorrow,  or  pale  with  re- 
morse; their  sympathies  may  be  aroused  for 
some  other,  but  not  for  the  minister.  He 
should  be  in  the  background  and  preach  Jesus 
Christ,  not  himself." 

I  think  John  was  right.  There  is  a  great 
temptation  for  ministers  to  elicit  sympathy  for 
themselves,  taking  occasion  from  their  priv- 
ilege in  the  pulpit.  Personal  reminiscences 
of  a  private  nature,  allusions  to  great  sorrows 
of  their  own  which  have  no  bearing  upon  the 
needs  of  the  hour,  have  little  effect  save  to 
cause  tears  to  flow  from  eyes  that  are  seldom 
dry.  Intimations  as  to  the  depth  of  degrada- 
tion into  which  they  were  plunged  "before 
their  conversion";  hints,  with  sighs  as  to  pos- 
sible "griefs"  which  they  are  keeping  to  them- 
selves— all  this  is  but  vanity  and  vexation. 

48 


John's  Farewell  Sermon 

These  should  be  left  in  the  study;  abandoned 
with  morning  prayers.  As  to  that  farewell  ser- 
mon enacted  on  the  shores  of  the  Mediterra- 
nean, there  are  few  Pauls  and  as  few  opportuni- 
ties to  bid  a  last  adieu  to  friends  with  breaking 
hearts.  When  "bonds  and  imprisonments" 
await  the  retiring  minister;  when  he  steps  on 
shipboard  to  face  a  stronger  and  more  cruel 
element  than  tho  sea,  then  may  he  appropriate 
to  himself  that  matchless  farewell.  But  to 
bring  that  sublime  scene  down  to  the  conditions 
of  to-day,  when  the  retiring  minister  boards  the 
train  for  an  adjoining  city,  or  steps  out  of  one 
pulpit  to  take  charge  of  another  at  more  salary 
and  less  work,  it  is  sacrilege.  The  conceit  of  it 
is  appalling.  And  yet  who  stops  to  think? 

There  was  a  rustle  visible  and  audible  when 
John  read:  "Rooms  shalt  thou  make  in  the  ark, 
and  thou  shalt  pitch  it  within  and  without  with 
pitch." 

"  O  John,  John,"  I  said  to  myself,  "  what 
can  pitch  possibly  have  to  do  with  this  church 
and  with  this  occasion?"  and  I  more  than  half 
smiled.  I  caught  John's  eye  for  an  instant  and 
in  the  flash  was  an  assurance. 

That  habit  of  "  catching  John's  eye  "  is  a  lit- 
tle custom,  common  to  us  even  now  that  we  are 
growing  old  and  wear  spectacles.  That  is  what 
is  meant  by  the  text  "As  iron  sharpeneth  iron, 
49 


John's  Farewell  Sermon 

so  doth  the  countenance  of  a  man  his  friend." 

Mine  is  not  the  only  eye  that  John  used  to 
catch.  There  was  Judge  Rich.  John  often 
says  that  Judge  Rich,  by  a  glance,  has  given 
him  a  new  thought  or  checked  him  in  some 
previously  constructed  utterance.  He  and  the 
Judge,  as  well  as  John  and  I,  sometimes  made 
up  the  sermon  together,  or  at  least  laid  the 
foundation  and  put  up  the  beams  and  rafters. 
Or  we  frescoed  the  whole  when  it  was  com- 
pleted. John  says  this  is  what  is  meant  by 
"  the  whole  body  fitly  joined  together."  Every 
"  joint  "  supplying  what  will  be  the  most  effect- 
ual "  working  "  so  that  "  love  is  edified."  And 
"love  was  edified"  that  morning  while  the 
autumn  sunshine  streamed  through  the  stained 
windows,  giving  the  corn  a  purple  tint  and  the 
wheat  a  crimson  hue. 

I  wish  I  could  give  the  sermon  as  a  whole; 
but  John's  notes  were  abbreviated  and  even 
they  are  lost  now.  What  I  can  remember  of  it 
I  will  give,  however  disconnected  and  insuffi- 
cient. It  may  prove  that  the  need  of  pitch  is 
not  lost  even  though  the  waters  that  bore 
Noah's  ark  are  assuaged. 

He  first  spoke  of  the  need  of  an  ark  for  indi- 
viduals and  for  families.  "  What  have  you 
built,"  he  asked  "  for  the  saving  of  your  house? 
Everywhere  is  the  flood  of  sin  and  the  debris  of 

50 


John's  Farewell  Sermon 

misery  cast  up  by  sin.  The  driftwood  of 
crime,  committed  or  intended,  seeks  a  shore 
upon  which  to  cast  itself.  What  about  the 
church,  this  ark  that  you  are  in?  Have  you 
pitched  it  within  and  without  with  pitch? 
Have  you  sealed  the  apertures  through  which 
vainglory,  and  presumption,  and  unsanctified 
ambition,  and  envy  and  strife  seep  and  filter? 
Have  you  made  the  roof  secure,  that  part  next 
to  God  and  heaven,  over  which  Justice  bends 
and  Eternity  holds  its  possibilities? 

"  Perchance  you  have  pitched  it  '  without.' 
To  the  world,  which  sees  only  the  exterior,  you 
are  safe.  The  rains  descend  and  the  floods 
come;  you  shelter  yourselves  behind  the  walls 
that  enclose  you.  You  do  a  thousand  things 
under  cover  of  the  ark,  under  the  wings  of  the 
church,  assuring  yourselves  that  there  is  no 
danger.  Are  there  not  envy,  and  overreaching, 
and  backbiting,  and  discontent,  and  decep- 
tion? Is  there  not  the  slander  of  a  look,  the 
stain  of  a  half  Buttered  exclamation?  Are  there 
not  bargains  and  sales  in  which  the  considera- 
tion is  a  mortgage  on  the  soul  and  values  paid 
in  gold  coined  from  life's  best  possibilties?  Is 
there  not  the  preferring  of  a  man's  self  to  his 
neighbor,  the  scuffle  of  hurrying  feet  to  secure 
the  best  things,  the  best  homes  and  the  best 
privileges? 


John's  Farewell  Sermon 

"  Listen!"  and  there  was  perfect  silence  for 
minutes.  Then  John  went  on:  "  Do  you  hear  all 
these,  oozing  drop  by  drop,  through  your  ark? 
Oh,  the  empty  profession;  the  lack  of  pitch  on 
the  inside;  the  forgetting  of  possible  crevices 
out  of  sight  of  scrutiny;  the  neglect  of  invisible 
apertures  through  which  the  storm  drizzles! 

"  The  story  of  the  flood  has  not  lost  its  mean- 
ing. The  command  of  Jehovah,  '  Thou  shalt 
pitch  it  within  and  without  with  pitch, '  was 
not  given  to  be  spent  upon  a  structure  three 
hundred  cubits  long  and  thirty  cubits  high. 
The  character  of  a  man  stretches  from  life's  bit 
of  shore  into  the  surge  of  eternity.  It  may  be 
as  high  as  it  is  long  and  reach  to  the  sky  above 
him.  A  man's  character  is  his  ark.  In  his 
heart,  in  the  inside  of  him,  he  must  be  impervi- 
ous to  the  elements.  If  this  inside  be  neglect- 
ed, the  outside,  his  pretension,  his  common 
life,  is  full  of  chinks.  Through  these  the  flood 
sweeps,  and  the  agitated  outer  elements  surge. 

"  Men  may  build  an  ark  whose  form  is  good. 
They  may  make  for  themselves  '  rooms  '  wherein 
to  house  the  creatures  of  Christian  culture. 
But  if  it  be  not  cemented  together  part  to  part, 
of  what  avail? 

"  Varnish  is  not  cement.  In  a  little  space  of 
time  a  man  will  be  as  if  he  had  no  ark.  And 
the  worst  of  it  is,  when  a  man's  ark  is  sub- 

52 


John's  Farewell  Sermon 

merged,  from  whatever  disaster,  his  household 
mostly  perish  with  him.  Is  your  life  consistent, 
my  hearers?  Have  you  constructed  your  ark, 
be  it  church,  or  home,  or  character,  with  an  eye 
to  the  danger?  Beware  of  the  little  leaks,  the 
seams,  the  fissures,  through  which  the  floods 
that  are  without  may  reach  you." 

And  then  John  spoke  of  the  "ark  of  bull= 
rushes "  in  which  a  royal  infant  was  placed 
upon  the  river.  How  it,  too,  "  was  daubed  with 
pitch,"  that  it  should  not  sink  with  the  weight 
of  its  occupant.  "Happy  the  man,"  he  said, 
"  whose  ark  is  built  in  childhood.  Save  a  child 
and  perchance  you  save  a  prophet.  See  to  it 
that  no  chink  is  left  in  the  little  bark  through 
which  may  gurgle  the  rush  of  high  water  or  the 
ooze  of  low  tide." 

And  then  he  turned  the  Bible  over  and  on 
until  he  reached  the  Revelation. 

"And  I  saw  a  new  heaven  and  a  new  earth, 
for  the  first  heaven  and  the  first  earth  had 
passed  away,  and  there  was  no  more  sea."  The 
flood  has  spent  itself.  The  first  heaven,  with  its 
clouds  and  booming  storms  and  rushing  mighty 
winds  has  passed  away.  So  has  the  first  earth, 
on  whose  bosom  were  agitation  and  the  moan  of 
waves  and  the  ceaseless  roar  of  unrest. 

"  What  is  your  prospect,  my  hearers,  as  you 
look  out  of  your  windows?  To  some  of  you  the 

53 


John's  Farewell  Sermon 

tope  of  the  mountains  above  the  clouds  are  al- 
ready visible.  Ararat  is  in  sight.  Yet  seven 
days,  mayhap,  and  your  ark  will  rest  upon  the 
summit.  See,  the  rainbow,  God's  promise, 
spans  the  arch  of  time's  horizon.  Though  the 
flood  is  not  yet  subsided  there  is  the  bow.  'And 
there  shall  be  no  more  sea.'  'No  more  sea'." 

John  himself  was  forgotten.  It  was  as  he 
would  have  it.  There  was  a  hush  of  many  min- 
utes when  it  seemed  as  if  we  heard  the  swish  of 
waters,  and  the  gentle  dying  away  of  rain,  and 
the  low  grinding  of  the  boat's  bottom  on  the 
sand,  while  tints  of  rainbow  colors  fell  softly 
through  the  windows.  We  saw  the  new  heaven 
and  the  new  earth.  St.  John,  sitting  alone  on 
the  Isle  of  Patmos,  faded  into  a  distant  speck4f 
and  then  sank  into  a  blending  of  earth  and  sky 
radiant  with  light. 

Then  the  choir  sang  that  hymn  of  Faber's. 
Low  and  soft  the  melody  approached  us  from 
far  away.  Nearer  it  came,  and  then  it  receded 
until  we  could  only  hear  a  faint  tone  as  of  dis- 
tant waves  at  daybreak: 

The  land  beyond  the  sea; 

When  will  life's  task  be  o'er? 

When  shall  we  reach  that  soft  bine  shore. 

O'er  the  dark  strait   whose  billows  foam  and  roar  ? 

When  shall  we  come  to  thee, 

Calm  land  beyond  the  sea? 

54 


CHAPTER  VIII 
John  Finds  a  New  Field 

After  we  bade  good-by  to  the  church  that 
outgrew  John  we  went  into  the  country  where 
we  owned  a  little  cottage  and  some  acres.  John 
was  urged  to  take  another  charge  immediately, 
but  he  declined,  saying  that  "  he  would  wait  a 
while." 

John  did  not  claim  the  need  of  "  rest,"  that 
excuse  for  all  the  follies  and  embarrassments 
and  illnesses  that  ministerial  flesh  is  heir  to. 
lie  says:  "  Ministers  do  not  need  rest  more  than 
two-- thirds  of  the  flock  need  it.  It  is  change, 
not  rest,  which  they  all  need.  It  would  be  bet- 
ter for  both  the  preacher  and  his  people  if  the 
minister  took  a  turn  about  with  the  husband- 
man and  the  house  builder  and  the  teacher. 
They  would  all  secure  the  needed  change,  and 
the  pulpit  might  not  suffer  if  the  gospel  were 
presented  now  and  then  from  the  standpoint  of 
a  lay  member.  The  fact  is,  the  minister  grows 
naturally  into  viewing  all  sides  of  faith  and 
practice  from  the  observatory  of  the  pulpit, 
hence  he  is  so  often  shocked  at  what  he  terms 
heterodoxy  in  some  of  his  flock.  Meanwhile  the 

55 


John  Finds  a  New  Field 

member  wonders  that  his  spiritual  leader  is  so 
near-sighted. 

"What  the  preacher  needs  occasionally  is 
steady  work  for  muscles  of  chest  and  hand  and 
limb  a  part  of  every  year.  There  would  be 
fewer  cases  of  '  nervous  prostration '  sent  across 
the  seas  to  recuperate,  and  less  sentiment  about 
'  wearing  oneself  out  in  the  service.'  Martyrs 
in  this  sense  are  not  needed.  When  a  minister 
begins  to  look  pale  and  pathetic,  and  bends  his 
head  languidly  to  one  side  in  a  pensive  way,  and 
elicits  sympathy  on  account  of  his  'nerves,'  it 
is  high  time  the  church  door  were  closed  on 
him  and  he,  like  Adam,  sent  into  the  garden  to 
dress  and  to  keep  it.  This  would  not  be  de- 
grading to  the  ministry,  but  uplifting.  Such  a 
course  would  ensure  a  return  to  the  pulpit  with 
new  thoughts  and  finer  perceptions  caught  from 
plants  and  animals  and  fresh  air.  The  '  Tree  of 
Life '  grows  in  the  garden  to-day  no  less  than  it 
did  in  Adam's  day;  and  we  die  with  our  years 
half  told  for  want  of  the  thing,  which  by  reason 
of  its  very  nearness,  we  neglect.  Away  with  the 
pensive  cast  of  countenance  too  often  seen  in  the 
pulpit!  Let  it  give  willing  place  to  temporary 
sunburn.  Callous  hands  may  point  the  way  to 
heaven  as  accurately  as  softly  dimpled  ones." 

That  is  what  John  says,  and  I  answer:  "  Don't 
you  think  you  are  too  severe  yourself  this  time? 

56 


John  Finds  a  New  Field 

You  might  give  offense,  you  know,  to  real  good 
ministers.  Ministers  are  spiritual  folks;  why,  I 
know  of  one  who  was  dismissed  from  a  very  fine 
situation  because  he  was  seen,  in  broad  day- 
light, carrying  a  piece  of  stovepipe  home  under 
his  arm.  And  another  was  criticised  sharply 
for  being  seen  with  a  pair  of  old  trousers  on, 
digging  in  the  garden  around  some  shrubs.  I 
tell  you,  John,  ministers  can't  be  too  careful." 

"No,  ministers  can't  be  too  careful,"  echoed 
John.  "  I  have  heard  too  many  allusions  to  a 
certain  minister's  '  faultless  complexion,'  or  to 
his  small  and  shapely  hands.  The  elegance  of 
his  person  too  often  decides  in  favor  of  a  new 
pastor.  Not  that  grace  of  figure  nor  of  feature 
are  to  be  disparaged.  They  are  gifts  of  God — 
but  there  are  other  gifts." 

John  tilled  his  acres  for  a  year  and  then  he 
taught  school  a  term.  Those  are  old-fashioned 
methods  of  change  and  recuperation  viewed 
from  the  height  of  the  present  time.  Even  at 
the  date  of  my  story  wise  old  heads  could  be 
seen  shaking  wofully  and  hinting  at  "  time 
wasted"  and  "talents  buried  in  a  napkin." 

John  made  answer:  "  It  was  not  that  the 
talent  was  wrapped  in  a  napkin,  but  that  it  was 
buried,  that  brought  censure  upon  the  servant. 
It  was  put  out  of  sight,  out  of  mind,  out  of 
touch,  out  of  circulation  in  a  world  of  traffic 

67 


John  Finds  a  New  Field 

which  had  need  of  it.  The  napkin  was  but  a 
girdle,  or  the  wallet  in  which  the  talent  should 
have  been  carried  about  with  the  servant.  My 
talent,  the  silver  negotiable  in  the  kingdom,  is  in 
the  wallet  of  my  faith.  I  shall  not  bury  it  in  my 
field,  albeit  I  am  ploughing  and  planting.  The 
Lord's  money  is  no  less  at  interest  that  I  myself 
am  the  usurer.  It  is  accumulating  to  itself 
more  of  its  kind,  and  the  whole  sum  is  ready  at 
the  call  of  the  Master." 

Thus  did  John  make  answer  in  regard  to  his 
so  called  buried  talent.  All  the  time  he  was 
thinking  and  reading — "  whetting  his  scythe, "  as 
he  said.  At  the  end  of  two  years  he  was  ready 
for  a  new  swath.  This  was  no  sooner  known 
than  many  were  his  invitations.  He  went  about 
some  and  in  a  short  time  had  decided  in  his 
own  mind  what  field  he  would  prefer.  John 
had  preferences.  All  ministers  have. 

He  says:  "It  might  be  well  for  the  minister 
to  give  the  church  a  call,  occasionally.  Satis- 
faction would  result  as  often,  perhaps,  and 
neither  should  make  haste  in  the  matter.  One 
swallow  does  not  make  a  summer,  neither  does 
one  sermon  nor  even  two  prove  the  fitness  of  pas- 
tor to  people.  How  can  a  preacher  conclude 
that  he  is  the  man  for  a  certain  church  when  he 
knows  nothing  of  that  church  save  as  he  has 
looked  upon  a  sea  of  faces?  It  has  been  re- 
58 


John  Finds  a  New  Field 

ferred  to  on  the  part  of  his  friends  as  '  a  desira- 
ble field.'  What  constitutes  a  desirable  field? 
Large  numbers,  fine  equipments,  generous 
salary?" 

John  did  not  choose  "  a  desirable  field."  If 
so,  then  he  would  have  accepted  the  invitation 
to  Old  Mentone,  where  he  was  offered  five  thou- 
sand and  an  assistant  besides.  "  Just  out  of 
debt;  large,  fine  church;  good  standing;  high- 
toned;  in  fact,  a  model." 

"And  why  should  not  we  go  there?"  I  asked. 
"You  deserve  it,  John.  You  can  grace  any 
pulpit,  and  they  want  you.  Besides,  you  have 
served  your  term  with  poverty  and  church  debt 
and  uncomfortable  things."  Oh,  I  did  want  to 
go  to  Old  Mentone!  John  could  do  as  much 
good  there  as  elsewhere,  I  argued;  and  the 
church  being  so  "united"  upon  giving  him  a 
"  call "  was  the  strongest  reason  why  he  should 
go  there.  In  fact,  it  was  an  absolute  "  indica- 
tion," and  I  told  him  so. 

John  found  me  crying  one  time  about  that 
very  thing,  for  women  will  cry,  even  ministers' 
wives,  sometimes.  I  had  begun  to  suspect  what 
his  choice  would  be.  When  he  saw  my  tears 
John  took  my  hand  and  said,  kindly:  "  There  is 
the  story  of  a  woman  who  did  wash  the  feet  of 
the  Christ  with  tears  and  wiped  them  with  the 
hair  of  her  head.  It  was  not  the  fact  that  she 

59 


John  Finds  a  New  Field 

wept  that  startled  dignity — the  greatest  of  them 
had  no  doubt  wept.  They  would  make  haste  to 
mingle  their  tears  with  the  Great  Master's,  to 
baptize  His  hands  or  His  forehead  in  the  ac- 
cepted dignity  of  tears.  But  to  kneel  at  His 
feet,  to  wash  them,  to  weep  in  a  humiliating  at- 
titude, to  choose  a  menial  service  while  the 
multitudes  were  at  meat — this  is  what  shocked 
propriety,  but  it  sent  its  holy  lesson  into  all  the 
world. 

"There  are  many  to  sit  at  meat  in  the  grand 
churches;  there  is  no  difficulty  in  filling  the  pul- 
pits of  such  with  eloquence.  Will  you  come 
with  me  to  this  unfortunate  church,  so  long 
relegated  to  fast  on  account  of  its  sins,  and 
there  wash  the  Master's  feet?  In  that  place  you 
could  break  the  alabaster  box  of  your  heart  with 
its  hopes  and  desires  and  preferences,  and  even 
its  love  of  me.  The  perfume  of  it  all  might  fill 
the  house  and  you  yourself  be  charged  with 
sweetness  as  you  never  would  have  been  without 
the  breaking  of  the  box.  What  shall  we  do?" 

When  John  said,  "What  shall  we  do?"  his 
tone  implied,  "  This  thing  will  we  do,"  and  I 
knew  he  was  right. 

Now,  the  church  that  John  chose  was  a  very 
unpopular  one,  to  say  the  best  of  it.  His  con- 
nection with  it  could  not  possibly  bring  him 
precedence  nor  honor.  It  had  passed  through 

60 


John  Finds  a  New  Field 

one  of  those  dire  calamities  of  public  scandal 
which  spares  neither  pulpit  nor  pew.  The 
church  body  itself  was  now  nearly  disbanded. 
Member  after  member  had  slipped  out  into 
other  folds,  or  had  retired  altogether  from 
Christian  society.  Its  very  name  was  a  re- 
proach to  religion. 

There  was  no  church  edifice,  so  to  speak,  but 
simply  a  plain  two-story  structure,  much  too 
large,  without  spire  or  bell  or  debt  or  other  in- 
cumbrance  save  that  dreadful  scandal.  For 
some  time  it  had  been  difficult  to  supply  the  pul- 
pit two  Sundays  in  succession.  A  minister  had 
no  reward  for  preaching  in  that  church  outside 
of  the  very  few  dollars  in  his  pocket.  It  gave 
him  no  popularity  with  other  churches. 

The  membership  which  remained  was  divided 
into  factions.  There  were  backbitings  and  strife 
and  evil  surmisings.  Upon  one  thing  only  were 
they  all  agreed — they  must  have  a  pastor  or  dis- 
band altogether. 

In  speaking  of  our  going  there  John  said  to 
me:  "  There  was  a  certain  man  going  down  from 
Jerusalem  to  Jericho  who  fell  among  thieves. 
These  stripped  him  of  his  raiment  and  wounded 
him  and  departed,  leaving  him  half  dead.  We 
have  found  this  church,  this '  certain  man ';  shall 
wo  pass  him  by  like  the  characters  in  the  story, 
or  shall  we  tarry  and  have  compassion  and  bind 

61 


John  Finds  a  New  Field 

up  his  wounds  and  take  care  of  him ;  seat  him  on 
our  own  beast,  figuratively  speaking — that  prin- 
ciple, or  power,  or  divine  means  of  overcoming 
the  roughness  of  the  way  by  which  we  ourselves 
have  journeyed  so  far?  This  church  has  been 
sick  a  long  while.  It  has  little  strength  and  less 
courage  to  use  what  strength  it  has.  It  imagines 
every  man  a  robber  and  is  afraid  to  move  lest  it 
meet  again  with  calamity. 

"  Jesus  stood  up  in  the  synagogue  and  read 
about  healing  the  broken-hearted,  delivering  the 
captives,  preaching  the  acceptable  year  of  the 
Lord,  giving  sight  to  the  blind  and  taking  care 
of  them  that  are  bruised.  Who  is  broken- 
hearted more  than  the  church  that  has  endured 
such  a  scandal?  Who  is  a  captive  more  than 
this  church  chained  to  the  dead  body  of  a  crim- 
inal— the  memory  of  such  a  shame?  The  mem- 
bers are  cast  down,  evilly  spoken  of,  full  of  bit- 
terness and  reproach  for  one  another,  and  hate 
and  evil  thoughts.  It  has  not  a  single  attractive 
feature  save  its  scars." 

I  do  not  mean  my  description  shall  be  ab- 
solutely sweeping.  There  were  a  few  men  and 
women  who  bore  up  under  the  derision  and  de- 
served scorn,  whose  own  skirts  were  free  from 
pollution  save  as  they  had  suffered  from  bearing 
the  common  burden. 

How  sin  hardens  the  human  heart!     I   do 

62 


John  Finds  a  New  Field 

mean  more  the  hearts  of  those  who  have  sinned 
primarily,  than  I  do  friends  and  observers. 
From  being  at  first  distressed,  and  humiliated, 
and  grieved,  they  soon  grow  morose  and  unfor- 
giving. This  was  the  case  with  that  church  at 
Sunrise  Park. 

63 


At  Sunrise  Park 

There  was  enough  support  pledged  to  John  to 
keep  us  from  anxiety.  He  would  accept  of  no 
promises  beyond  their  present  ability.  We 
could  live  comfortably  and  save  a  little.  This 
was  as  well  as  the  majority  of  members  did. 
"The  workman  is  worthy  of  his  meat,"  John 
quoted.  "  It  is  not  necessary  that  he  dine  on 
terrapin  and  robins'  breasts.  He  may  share  the 
meat  of  those  about  him,  be  it  only  bacon  and 
mutton  brisket,  provided  those  about  him  can 
no^afrord  better,  and  over  it  say  '  grace '  for  the 
whole  community." 

As  I  said,  we  had  sufficient  and  some  to  spare 
for  an  occasional  tramp.  By  "  tramp "  I  mean 
a  visitor  of  whatsoever  sort.  What  else  do  we 
mean  when  we  pray,  "  Give  us  this  day  our  daily 
bread?"  The  personal  pronoun  "I"  is  not 
used  in  the  Lord's  Prayer,  hence  we  pray  for  the 
tramp — the  disagreeable,  homespun  tramp — 
who  comes  to  us  unannounced  and  uninvited, 
save  as  we  invited  him  unconsciously  in  our 
petition. 

John  says:  "There  are  tramps,  and  other 
64 


At  Sunrise  Park 

tramps.  Some  go  about  on  foot  in  threadbare 
clothes,  and  countenances  as  threadbare  of  hope 
or  of  shame.  These  are  the  unwelcome,  hated 
tramps,  who  steal  a  night's  lodging  on  our  hay 
and  sneak  away  in  the  early  dawn.  They  are  as 
shiftless  and  as  lazy  as  was  that  class  mentioned 
in  the  Levitical  law,  who  no  doubt  objected  to 
hard  work,  but  who  nevertheless  were  provided 
for.  'Thou  shalt  not  glean  thy  vineyard,  neither 
shalt  thou  gather  every  grape  of  thy  vineyard; 
thou  shalt  leave  them  for  the  poor  and  stranger 
(the  tramps);  I  am  the  Lord  your  God.' 

"There  are  some  who  tramp  in  private  cars 
fitted  into  moving  palaces,  who  dine  at  grand 
hotels,  instead  of  on  our  back  doorsteps.  These 
also  we  include  in  the  prayer  for  'our  daily 
bread.'  The  '  family  and  fold  of  God '  include 
all  classes.  Conditions  are  accepted  with  a  sigh 
in  the  present  state  of  society.  When  the  vine- 
yards revert  to  the  original  owner,  Jehovah, 
there  will  be  no  grudging  of  the  gleanings  for 
the  poor.  And  Jehovah  respects  toil  and  own- 
ership, for  the  tramp  was  not  entitled  to  the  first 
harvest.  A  handful  of  barley,  a  small  share 
only  of  the  abundant  whole,  was  left  for  the 
stranger.  He  had  no  right  to  another  man's 
labor.  This  system  kept  the  one  from  starving, 
while  the  other  was  taught  to  remember  the 


poor." 


65 


At  Sunrise  Park 

We  moved  into  a  small  cottage  in  the  rural 
village  of  Sunrise  Park  in  June  18 — .  John's 
first  sermon  was  on  the  text,  "As  long  as  the 
cloud  abode  upon  the  tabernacle  they  rested  in 
their  tents."  "  God  would  teach  his  people  to 
rest  when  the  cloud  is  on  them,  when  the  mists 
of  reproach  and  trial  are  between  them  and  light. 
To  rest  was  to  feel  no  doubt  in  the  ultimate 
moving  on;  to  feel  secure  and  at  home  with 
God's  promises  even  though  one's  way  lay 
through  the  wilderness.  Jehovah  is  not  the 
cloud,  but  He  is  in  the  cloud.  We  bless  His 
holy  name  for  that.  Though  there  seems  no 
light  in  your  way,  and  each  has  been  separated 
from  his  brother  on  account  of  the  thick  dark- 
ness, there  are  promises  to  you  like  light  to  the 
blind.  Here  is  one:  'As  a  shepherd  seeketh  out 
his  flock  in  the  day  that  he  is  among  his  sheep 
that  are  scattered,  so  will  I  seek  out  my  sheep 
and  will  deliver  them  out  of  all  places  where 
they  have  been  scattered  in  the  cloudy  and  dark 
day.'  Ye  are  all  the  Lord's  Israel,  and  the 
promises  are  unto  you  and  to  your  children." 

And  "rest"  fell  upon  the  handful  of  believers 
in  the  little  troubled  church.  New  tissue  begai* 
to  form  in  the  bruised  places;  old  torn  shreds 
began  to  knit  to  the  better  structures,  and 
although  the  processes  were  slow  they  were 
healthy. 

66 


At  Sunrise  Park 

I  say  the  work  of  repair  "began";  there  was 
no  miracle  wrought  in  an  hour.  Natural  growth 
out  of  trouble  was  simply  fostered  and  perfected 
by  grace.  "  First  that  which  is  natural "  came 
about.  Time  heals,  to  some  extent,  spiritual 
as  well  as  physical  wounds.  Natural  processes 
do  their  healing  work  in  body  and  in  heart. 
They  are  none  the  less  of  God, 

If  I  were  writing  an  impossible  story  I  would 
have  that  unfortunate  church  brought  into  unity 
and  sweetness  of  temper  and  love  unfeigned  in 
the  twinkling  of  an  eye.  That  would  illustrate 
the  power  of  John's  influence  and  put  him  on 
the  plane  of  the  old  prophets  who  caused  iron 
to  swim  and  leprosy  to  disappear  in  a  river  bath. 
But  John  was  not  one  of  the  old  prophets,  and 
as  this  is  a  true  story  I  cannot  record  flattering 
results. 

There  were  no  swift  changes  for  the  better; 
no  success  on  lightning  wings  as  a  reward  for 
self=abandonment.  Some  great  and  unexpected 
good  comes  to  the  boy  in  the  Sunday-school 
book  and  he  tantalizes  his  companions  who  are 
not  good,  with  a  display  of  his  gain. 

It  is  only  a  story  conceived  by  the  author  to 
induce  all  little  boys  to  be  good.  There  is  not 
a  particle  of  truth  in  it.  The  result  is,  if  a  boy 
is  good  and  obedient  and  the  reward  is  not 
forthcoming  he  pouts  and  grows  sullen.  A  bit 
67 


At  Sunrise  Park 

of  Sunday-school  fiction  has  spoiled  many  a 
boy.  Better  to  have  taught  the  lesson  that  visi- 
ble reward  is  as  scarce  as  humming  birds  at 
Christmas  time  when  the  snow  is  three  feet  deep 
in  the  garden.  Reward  is  not  more  sure  to  the 
boy  than  is  success  to  the  man.  Both  may 
come  in  disguise  and  never  be  recognized  in 
this  life. 

So,  as  I  said,  results  in  John's  work  were  not 
soon  nor  flattering.  The  command  to  "  wash  and 
be  clean  "  was  to  individuals,  not  communities. 
One  at  a  time  the  maimed,  the  lame,  the  halt 
and  the  blind  go  down  into  the  pool,  angel- 
troubled.  It  is  heaven's  method  of  receiving 
the  sick.  One  at  a  time  is  healed  of  whatsoever 
disease  he  has.  If  the  healing  were  to  reach  all 
at  once,  where  were  patience,  and  the  watching 
for  repeated  visits  of  the  angel,  and  the  great 
desire  to  step  down  first?  When,  by  a  manifold 
miracle  ten  were  cleansed,  only  one  returned  to 
give  glory.  Glory  is  necessary  to  convince  the 
world,  and  so  we  have  one  leper  at  a  time 
cleansed. 

In  this  new  field  of  his  John  did  not  expect 
immediate  and  universal  results.  "  Hadst  thou 
faith  like  a  grain  of  mustard  seenihou  couldst 
say  to  this  mountain,  '  Be  thou  removed,'  and  it 
would  obey  thee."  "  Like  a  grain  of  mustard 
seed  "  perfect,  fertile,  without  suspicion  of  for- 
68 


At  Sunrise  Park 

eign  element  or  premature  putting  forth — a 
thing  measured  and  weighed  and  fashioned 
according  to  some  mysterious  power.  Faith 
like  a  grain  of  mustard  seed  is  not  common,  even 
if  it  be  found  at  all  in  the  church  of  God.  Some 
are  said  to  possess  it,  but  who  has  removed  a 
mountain?  To  level  a  tiny  hillock  is  easy,  but 
where  whole  mountains  of  accumulated  misery 
stretch  across  the  church  continent  there  are 
none  with  faith  like  a  mustard  seed  to  com- 
mand them  to  be  removed.  A  mountain  is  seen 
of  many;  it  is  not  a  mound  on  one's  personal  es- 
tate whose  exact  location  and  size  none  may 
know  save  the  owner  of  it.  I  may  claim  to  have 
removed  a  mountain  in  my  pasture  lands,  but 
unless  it  has  been  located  and  measured  and 
scaled  by  others  besides  myself,  who  shall  be- 
lieve that  I  have  removed  a  mountain?  Nor 
were  we  commanded  to  remove  mountains. 

69 


CHAPTER  X 
A  Church  Keception 

Soon  after  our  arrival  at  Sunrise  Park  the 
church  gave  a  reception  to  the  new  pastor. 
Church  receptions  in  those  days  days  were  often 
peculiar.  The  "  leading  members  " — that  is,  the 
smart,  well  dressed,  fine,  fashionable  minority  of 
the  real  whole — constituted  themselves  a  "  recep- 
tion committee."  They  gathered  in  a  circle  in 
the  centre  of  the  church  parlor,  smiling  and 
chatting  and  diffusive  of  witty  remarks.  When 
the  new  minister  and  his  wife  appeared  they 
were  introduced  to  the  waiting  ring  in  succes- 
sion, and  afterwards,  poor,  insignificant  mem- 
bers were  hurriedly  or  carelessly  presented. 
Naturally  enough,  and  without  evident  inten- 
tion, these  were  passed  along  to  make  room  for 
others.  The  affectionate  "  leading  members  " 
managed  always  to  have  the  minister  in  charge, 
very  much  as  its  owners  guard  a  beautiful  ani- 
mal at  a  county  fair.  He  is  dextrously  en- 
gaged in  conversation  by  the  brightest  ladies, 
and  occasionally  with  some  gentleman  of  the 
same  sort.  So  adroitly  is  the  event  managed 
that  at  the  close  of  the  affair  the  minister  imag- 

70 


A  Church  Reception 

ines  that  his  flock  are  all  South  Downs  without 
a  mixture  of  inferior  stock,  and  he  wonders  that 
"  the  lines  have  fallen  to  him  in  such  pleasant 
places."  Alas  for  the  church  of  God  if  "  pleas- 
ant places  "  are  the  ambition  of  her  ministers! 
— unless,  perchance,  their  ambition  be  to  make 
"pleasant  places"  for  those  of  the  flock  who 
are  on  the  remote  desert  edge  of  poverty  and 
unpopularity. 

There!  I  am  guilty  of  a  solecism — the  very 
thing  John  bade  me  beware  of.  I  dropped  from 
the  past  to  the  present  tense.  It  was  uninten- 
tional; of  course  I  was  describing  a  church  re- 
ception as  it  was,  not  as  it  is. 

It  was  a  bright  picture  that  met  us  at  the 
door.  Being  in  perfect  health  at  the  time  and 
in  the  best  of  spirits,  John  and  I  were  prepared 
to  enjoy  the  reception.  We  were  presented  to 
"  the  committee,"  and  afterwards  to  each  and  all 
in  turn.  Then  seats  were  placed  for  us  against 
a  background  of  flowers  and  vines. 

I  whispered  to  John  a  suggestion  that  we 
were  in  danger  of  being  carried  to  the  skies  "  on 
flowery  beds  of  ease,"  but  he  bade  me  have  no 
fear. 

Pots  of  rare  fragrance  were  set  all  about  on 

little  tables  so  that  the  whole  air  was  redolent. 

Pretty    dresses  and  shining  white  teeth  and 

brilliant  conversation   made  me,  at  least,  very 

71 


A  Church  Reception 

happy  and  nattered;  nor  was  I  proof  against  the 
pleasant  personal  things  said  to  me.  I  did  my 
best  to  return  in  kind  all  that  I  received,  in- 
wardly assured  that  in  such  polite  and  finished 
society  I  should  have  nothing  to  regret.  Alas, 
and  alas! 

Soon  John  began  to  look  uninterested.  Once 
or  twice  he  did  not  hear  when  a  remark  was 
made  to  him.  I  understood.  Some  thoughtless 
people  were  "  bringing  up  a  slander  on  the 
land,"  and  John  did  not  care  to  hear.  Small= 
talk  like  this  was  repulsive  to  him  as  in  bad 
taste  in  such  a  place,  aside  from  its  bearing 
upon  his  connection  with  every  separate  mem- 
ber of  his  flock. 

He  turned  and  looked  around  the  large  room. 
I  followed  his  glance  and  saw  what  I  had  not 
noticed  before — that  we  were  the  centre  of  a 
group  of  the  best  dressed,  most  aristocratic 
people  in  the  parlor.  To  the  left  of  us  there 
was  a  second  group — second  in  appearance, 
though  not  lacking  in  a  certain  refinement  one 
sees  in  some  who  wear  second=rate  clothes.  In  the 
far  corner  was  yet  another  group,  of  the  more  com- 
mon sort  who  work  diligently,  live  economically 
and  pay  their  debts;  at  the  same  time  wearing 
their  last  year's  bonnets  and  coats  with  a  cer- 
tain "  at^homeness  "  quite  possible  with  such 
out-of-date  apparel.  One  sees  this  identical 

73 


CONVERSING    AWHILE    WITH    HIS    NEW    CONSTITUENCY. 


A  Church  Reception 

group  in  some  of  the  churches  of  to=day,  I  am 
told.  They  pay  their  church  dues  promptly  and 
are  never  behind  in  their  obligations,  whether  sa- 
cred or  secular.  And  yet,  strange  to  say,  they 
are  always  in  the  "  far  corner."  They  are 
treated  respectfully,  to  be  sure;  even  cordially 
when  there  is  an  especial  collection  to  be  taken. 
In  the  intervals  they  are  always  to  be  found  in 
that  "  far  corner."  I  wish  there  were  no  corners 
in  the  church;  no  distance  suggestive  of  groups. 
John  excused  himself  and  walked  over  to 
group  No.  2.  I  could  see  speaking  glances  dart 
from  one  to  another  of  the  little  faction  about 
me  and  there  was  quite  a  hush  in  the  hitherto 
lively  conversation.  After  conversing  a  while 
with  his  new  constituency,  John  went  over  to 
the  far  corner.  I  could  see,  by  his  manner,  and 
the  way  in  which  he  was  drawing  everyone  into 
conversation,  that  he  was  very  much  interested 
there.  Presently  he  called  to  someone  in 
group  No.  2  to  come  over  into  the  corner  and 
decide  some  question.  This  made  a  break  in 
group  No.  2,  and  soon  the  whole  of  them  were 
in  the  corner.  But  it  seemed  the  question  un- 
der discussion  could  not  be  settled  without 
group  No.  1  joined  the  combine.  It  was  ap- 
pealed to,  and  of  course  we,  too,  went  over  into 
the  corner.  John  was  always  a  good  talker.  By 
"good  talker"  I  do  not  mean  that  he  said  so 

73 


A  Church  Keception 

much  himself,  though  he  was  not  lacking  in  ex- 
pression, but  he  had  a  gift  of  making  others 
give  an  opinion  or  venture  a  remark,  which  was 
irresistible. 

The  subject  of  conversation  that  evening  was 
"  Individuality  in  plants  and  animals,"  of  course 
including  man.  The  personality  of  every  sep- 
arate apple  blossom  and  its  apparent  determina- 
tion to  develop  itself  into  an  apple;  the  impres- 
sion it  makes  upon  a  neighboring  apple  by  close 
association,  as  is  noticed  in  the  light  and  shade 
of  coloring.  There  is  a  like  personality  in  veg- 
etables which  crowd  together  in  the  ground. 
The  stronger  shape  the  weaker  and  crush  them 
into  dwarfs — misshapen  semblances  of  the  veg- 
etables they  ought  to  be.  Only  to  beings  of  hu- 
man growth  has  been  given  the  divine  behest  to 
"look  also  upon  the  things  of  others,"  or  to 
"  prefer  one  another  in  honor "  or  perfectness. 
If  the  "  Son  of  man  should  walk  through  the 
fields  on  the  Sabbath  day "  as  he  did  so  long 
ago,  would  he  not  find  his  people,  like  the  lower 
orders,  crowding  one  another,  and  crushing  the 
small  ones,  and  pushing  each  in  turn,  or  all  the 
time,  his  fellows,  until  the  nourishment  intend- 
ed for  the  whole  is  absorbed  by  a  few,  and  the 
little  ones  left  to  wither? 

"But  don't  you  think,"  said  a  lady  in  gray, 
"  that  the  little  ones  ought  to  be  glad  to  see  the 
74 


A  Church  Reception 

big  ones  grow  and  be  beautiful?  And  after  all, 
do  not  the  small  ones  push  just  as  hard  to  get 
to  the  light  and  crowd  themselves  between  bet- 
ter individuals — as,  see  the  apples  in  a  cluster? 
They  started  together  in  the  blossom.  Whose 
fault  is  it  that  one  is  full=grown  and  the  other 
dwarfed?" 

"First  that  which  is  natural,"  replied  John, 
"and  afterwards  that  which  is  spiritual.  The 
Son  of  man  came  to  teach  that  individuality 
should  give  place  to  preference,  and  personal 
ambition  for  place  or  prominence  to  stand  aside 
for  the  good  of  all.  Though  like  them  in  many 
ways,  are  we  not  much  better  than  the  plants?" 

"Well,"  said  a  gentleman  with  a  dress-coat 
on,  "  I  fail  to  see  the  point  in  all  this.  The 
sentiment  is  good  but  where  shall  wo  apply  it? 
If  a  man  is  never  to  rise  unless  he  lift  his 
neighbor  with  him,  how  many  of  us  would  be 
above  the  turf?  I  am  on  the  south  side  of  the 
apple  tree,  just  where  nature  hung  me.  Shall  I 
leave  my  place  and  swing  around  to  the  north 
that  my  little  neighbor  in  the  shade  may  have 
the  light?  Or,  I  am  a  potato  in  the  garden  soil. 
Am  I  to  squeeze  under  a  smaller  one,  between 
it  and  some  other,  that  they  may  have  more 
room  to  grow  on  the  outside  and  suck  in  the 
moisture  of  the  surface  where  I  had  my  birth- 
right? Sir,  it  is  unnatural.  Ten  to  one  the 

75 


A  Church  Reception 

little  one  would  never  grow  to  my  size  if  it  had 
a  chance." 

Here  a  call  to  supper  interrupted  the  conver- 
sation and  the  subject  was  postponed  to  the 
next  social.  It  was  a  good  deal  better  to  carry 
on  a  conversation  in  this  way  on  various  subjects 
than  to  stand  or  sit,  looking  tired  or  parading 
one's  clothes  or  dividing  into  groups  for  gos- 
sip. 

One  of  the  gentlemen  beside  me  gave  me  his 
arm  and  I  heard  him  suggest  to  a  neighbor  that 
he  arrange  for  the  minister  to  take  Mrs.  Mc- 
Deavitt.  "A  highly  respectable  lady,"  as  he 
whispered  to  me. 

I  looked  at  Mrs.  McDeavitt  and  noted  her 
beauty,  her  faultless  dress  and  manner — but  alas! 
there  was  about  her  a  certain  undefinable  air 
which  bade  me  beware.  Immediately  upon 
the  proposal  for  tea  I  saw  John  give  his  arm  to 
a  diffident,  plainly  dressed  woman  by  his  side,  a 
Miss  Waterbury. 

Again  the  reception  committee  exchanged 
glances.  But  I  was  glad  for  John,  and  glad  for 
the  lady  by  his  side  as  well.  I  thought  she 
looked  as  if  she  would  grace  a  better  station  in 
life  than  she  was  used  to.  That  was  a  very  fool- 
ish thought  of  mine;  as  if  any  position  were  not 
"  graced  "  by  such  as  she.  When  shall  we  learn 
that  there  is  no  station  better  than  the  one  that 
76 


A  Church  Reception 

each  is  in,  provided  each  graces  that  position? 

Of  course,  way  was  made  for  the  minister  and 
his  companion  to  pass  out  ahead,  and  he  seated 
her  with  the  deference  so  natural  to  John.  She 
looked  happy,  as  if  conscious  of  having  swung 
around  "  to  the  south  side  of  the  apple  tree," 
and  she  grew  rosy  in  the  sunshine  of  her  new 
place. 

I  looked  down  the  table  and  noted  that  the 
"sets"  or  factions  were  seated  as  they  had 
stood  before — in  separate  companies.  There 
was  no  mingling  of  either  with  the  other,  save 
in  the  case  of  Rachel  Waterbury.  And  yet 
this  was  at  the  Lord's  table,  and  in  His  house! 
77 


CHAPTER  XI 
We  Receive  Calls 

The  church  social  was  a  success  in  that  his 
people  began  to  understand  John  on  the 
"  church^gossip  "  question.  Some  people  think 
there  is  a  sacredness  about  church  gossip  which 
naturally  places  it  above  the  ordinary,  and 
lends  it  an  air  of  tolerance  quite  foreign  to 
common  Smalltalk.  But  John  says  "church 
gossip  has  no  more  sanctity  than  neighborhood 
slander;  in  fact  it  is  more  malicious."  What 
should  the  new  minister  care  that  this  or  that 
member  "was  concerned  in  the  late  trouble  and 
took  sides"  one  way  or  another? 

Some  sly  attempts  were  made  afterwards  to 
interest  John  and  me  in  the  past  painful  his- 
tory of  the  church,  but  I  do  not  know  to  this 
day  who  was  to  blame  and  who  not  in  the  mat- 
ter, nor  the  particulars  as  to  the  slander. 

The  past  was  forgotten  save  as  we  could  see 
the  "  cold  shoulder  "  on  the  part  of  some  of  the 
flock  towards  other  members. 

There  was  a  disposition  to  be  "  neighborly " 
on  the  part  of  some  of  our  neighbors,  especially 
those  who  lived  close  by.  Such  as  did  not 

78 


We  Receive  Calls 

"  drop  in  "  just  to  get  acquainted  with  the  new 
minister  and  see  "  how  he  stood  "  on  the  ques- 
tions of  the  day,  came  in  to  get  acquainted  with 
the  minister's  wife.  They  came  at  all  hours 
and  stayed  until  they  had  to  go  home  to  get 
dinner  or  supper,  or  put  the  children  to  bed. 
Sometimes  a  well-meaning  woman  came  before 
breakfast  and  stopped  for  half  an  hour.  But 
the  favorite  time  seemed  to  be  about  the  mid- 
dle of  the  forenoon ;  just  when  I  was  the  busiest. 
I  took  it  all  in  good  part,  thinking  it  one  of  the 
duties  of  a  minister's  wife  to  be  agreeable  and 
make  others  happy. 

At  first  my  neighbors  rang  the  front  door 
bell,  as  neighbors  should;  then  they  took  to 
knocking  at  the  back  door,  and  finally  they  walked 
directly  in,  saying,  as  the  door  opened  without 
warning,  "  Its  just  me,"  or  "  Now,  don't  get  up." 

Almost  all  housekeepers  like  privacy,  and  I 
do  most  heartily.  When  it  comes  to  commu- 
nity of  homes  I  am  decidedly  conservative.  So 
is  John.  So  was  St.  Paul  when  he  enjoined 
women  to  "be  discreet,  chaste  keepers  at 
home."  Whose  home  did  he  mean,  their  own 
or  their  neighbor's  home? 

Now  we  are  social,  John  and  I.  We  like 
company  at  the  proper  time.  But  the  disor- 
derly running  out  and  in  of  neighbors,  the  pre- 
suming upon  a  friend's  courtesy,  the  idle,  mo- 

79 


We  Receive  Calls 

tiveless  calling  that  unemployed  women  so 
often  do,  is  not  uplifting.  One  does  not  like  to 
be  caught  cleaning  out  the  stove  with  a  towel 
pinned  about  one's  head,  nor  brushing  down 
the  dressers,  nor  dusting  the  parlor.  In  spite 
of  native  politeness  or  acquired  courtesy  there 
is  an  inward  distress  at  such  moments,  and  an 
unexpressed  wish  that  one's  friends  "  would  call 
in  the  afternoon." 

I  tried  to  be  sweet4empered  and  cordial  to 
my  neighbors,  even  though  their  calling  caused 
delay  in  a  hundred  things,  in  spite  of  their  oft= 
repeated  injunctions  to  "  go  right  on  now  just 
as  if  we  wasn't  here."  I  reasoned  that  these 
were  the  customs  of  the  village;  besides  I  real- 
ized that  there  is  a  sort  of  possession  of  the 
minister  and  his  whole  family  by  all  the  flock, 
or  the  flock  take  it  for  granted. 

John  suggested  that  an  easy  way  out  of  the 
trouble  would  be  for  me  to  "  have  a  day."  So  I 
wrote  "Mondays"  on  the  lower  left-hand  corner 
of  my  visiting  cards  and  believed  it  would  work. 
But  it  did  not.  Some  came  on  Monday,  but 
the  majority  declared  they  wouldn't  go  to 
see  any  woman  "  on  her  day."  They  "  came 
to  see  me,"  and  they  wanted  to  "catch  me  just 
as  I  was."  I  needn't  have  a  day  on  their  ac- 
count; they  "  could  come  any  time." 

They  blindly  refused  to  see  that  it  was  for  my 
80 


We  Receive  Calls 

own  convenience  that  I  had  "  a  day."  Some  of 
my  friends  affected  to  take  offense,  declaring 
that  I  was  "  putting  on  airs"  and  "  trying  to  be 
like  city  folk  "  in  having  a  day  on  my  card. 

I  could  have  got  along  with  all  this  well 
enough  with  my  usual  foolish  excuse  that  I  was 
"  helping  John,"  but  when  it  came  to  borrow- 
ing, I  needed  a  great  deal  of  "  grace  "  to  over- 
come my  natural  feelings.  I  had  to  think 
about  "  John's  work  "  a  good  deal  before  I  was 
resigned;  but  when  I  once  gave  up  on  this 
point  I  did  it  heartily.  John  and  I  make  it  a 
rule  to  borrow  nothing.  If  we  desire  something 
which  is  not  at  hand,  we  go  without  or  wait  till 
we  can  buy  it.  This  as  a  rule.  But  these  peo- 
ple to  whom  we  had  come  as  strangers  seemed 
to  consider  us  and  our  belongings  as  their  own. 
There  was  no  time,  no  household  stuff,  no  per- 
sonal strength,  which  was  ours  positively. 

I  do  not  think  they  intended  to  impose  upon 
us  in  any  way.  I  am  sure  they  did  not.  They 
were  simply  uneducated  in  these  points,  as  I  have 
since  learned  is  the  case  with  many  admirable 
people.  Like  many  another  minister's  flock, 
they  simply  presumed  upon  the  minister's  good 
nature  in  a  thoughtless  sort  of  way.  Did  he 
not  belong  to  them?  Did  they  not  pay  him 
a  salary? — hence  he  and  his  wife  and  all  their 
personal  effects  were  theirs. 

81 


We  Receive  Calls 

"Mother  wants  to  know  if  she  can  borrow 
some  of  the  morning's  milk;  she'll  pay  it  back 
to=night."  Or  "Mother  wants  to  borrow  your 
cutting  shears."  Or  "Aunt  Jane  says,  'Will  you 
loan  her  some  tea  and  a  pan  of  flour ? '"  These  are 
samples  of  the  requests  that  came  in  at  the  kitch- 
en door.  Many  a  time  have  I  loaned  my  thick 
shawl  or  my  best  gloves  or  even  John's  overcoat 
to  parties  going  for  a  drive;  and  to  the  same  par- 
ties many  times  over.  Thread,  spoons,  books, 
the  children's  playthings,  chairs,  and  garden 
hose,  each  and  all  played  their  part  in  this  neigh- 
borly kindness.  Most  of  the  things  were  re- 
turned in  good  shape,  though  invariably  they 
were  retained  for  a  longer  time  than  had  been  ex- 
pected, and  sometimes  I  was  obliged  to  send  for 
them.  Often,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  in  the  matter 
of  butter,  tea,  flour,  etc.,  inferior  articles  were 
sent  home  to  me. 

This  went  on  for  a  while  and  then  our  neigh- 
bors came  to  borrowing  me.  Was  anybody  sick 
in  the  village  the  minister's  wife  was  sent  for. 
She  was  expected  to  leave  her  babies  with  the 
minister,  her  dough  in  the  pan,  her  dusting  half 
done,  her  new  book  half  read,  her  letters  unfin- 
ished. She  must  sit  up  with  the  dying,  lay  out 
the  dead  babies,  stay  with  the  family  in  their 
hour  of  affliction,  assist  at  births  and  funerals, 
superintend  the  wedding  cake  and  the  bride's 

82 


MOTHER  WANTS  TO  BORROW  SOME  OF  THE 
MORNING'S  MILK. 


We  Receive  Calls 

trousseau;  in  short,  the  minister's  wife  was 
"maid^of-all^work"  in  the  church. 

I  would  not  mention  all  this  if  I  did  not  know 
that  many  a  minister's  wife  has  had  a  like  expe- 
rience; on  a  smaller  scale,  mayhap,  but  little  less 
realistic. 

I  never  complained;  I  took  it  for  granted  in 
some  vague  way  that  I  was  "  helping  John  in  his 
work"  to  thus  become  a  martyr.  And  yet  in 
what  particular  way  all  this  was  helping  him  I 
never  stopped  to  conjecture.  In  some  mystical 
way  I  was  "bearing  my  cross."  I  "ought  to  be 
glad  of  doing  some  good  in  the  world"  I  argued, 
while  I  thought  of  my  neglected  duties.  "A 
minister's  wife  has  a  great  responsibility." 

Yes,  a  great  responsibility.  In  my  case  I  was 
responsible  for  the  selfishness  of  my  neighbors. 
I  was  humoring  their  greed  and  covetousness. 
I  was  myself  unconsciously  aiding  them  in 
breaking  the  decalogue.  I  was  robbing  my  fam- 
ily of  what  they  were  entitled  to — my  best  self. 
I  kept  these  things  to  myself  as  far  as  was  pos- 
sible, not  wishing  to  bother  John,  naturally,  as 
he  had  troubles  of  his  own  which  I  shall  men- 
tion another  time.  But  when  it  came  to  my  be- 
ing absent  from  home  three  days  in  the  week 
and  called  up  at  midnight  or  at  early  dawn,  of 
course  John  began  to  look  up  the  matter. 


CHAPTER  XII 

I  Begin  to  Look  Like  a  Minister's 
Wife 

I  was  looking  worn  and  haggard,  thin  in  flesh 
and  generally  "  run  do wn "  as  the  saying  is.  I 
noticed  my  forlorn  appearance  in  the  glass  when 
I  brushed  my  hair  that  was  catching  its  prema- 
ture sprinkling  of  gray.  I  felt  even  worse  than 
I  looked,  so  languid  and  weak,  while  ghostly 
shades  of  "nervous  prostration"  gave  me  the 
nightmare.  I  argued  to  myself:  "  That's  the  way 
ministers'  wives  all  look.  It's  right,  I  suppose, 
that  they  should  be  worn  out  and  grow  old, 
young.  They  have  a  mission,  a  field  of  labor, 
and  they  ought  not  to  think  of  themselves  at  all: 
that  would  be  selfish  and  hinder  their  husbands' 
ministry." 

One  day  John  came  in  and  found  me  getting 
ready  to  go  away  with  a  neighbor  who  was  wait- 
ing in  his  carriage. 

"  Where  are  you  going?  "  asked  John. 

"Why,"   I  answered,  "Mrs.  Pliable's*  little 

*I  have  borrowed  the  names  for  this  chapter  from 
"Pilgrim's  Progress"  to  avoid  saying  Mrs.  Smith  or 
Mrs.  Jones  too  often.  They  will  answer  my  purpose  just 
as  well. 

84 


I  Look  Like  a  Minister's  Wife 

Paul  is  very  sick,  indeed.  The  doctor  says  if  he 
lives  at  all  it  will  be  by  the  very  best  of  nursing, 
so  they  want  me  to  come  right  over.  I'll  be 
back  in  time  for  supper  if  I  can,  though  I  sup- 
pose they'll  want  me  to  stay  all  night.  I  shall 
take  the  baby  with  me." 

"My  dear,"  said  John,  "lay  off  your  bonnet; 
I  will  excuse  you  to  Mr.  Pliable,"  and  he  went 
out  to  the  gate.  I  could  see  the  two  gentlemen 
from  where  I  stood  and  also  hear  a  part  of  their 
conversation. 

"My  wife  is  not  looking  well,"  John  said  to 
our  neighbor.  "  Will  you  kindly  excuse  her  to 
Mrs.  Pliable  and  say  that  we  hope  the  best  for 
the  child?" 

"But,"  pleaded  Mr.  Pliable,  "  my  wife  is  nearly 
worn  out  and  must  have  help.  There  is  not  a 
nurse  to  be  had  for  less  than  ten  dollars  a  week 
and  they  are  scarce  at  that  price.  Our  former 
minister's  wife  always  stayed  with  the  sick  and 
afflicted." 

"  I  am  sorry,"  replied  John,  "but  it  is  impossi- 
ble." 

Mr.  Pliable  rode  away  looking  as  if  he  had 
met  with  sudden  reverses,  while  John  came  back 
to  my  room. 

"You  have  acted  as  professional  nurse  for  the 
last  time,"  he  said.  "  You  have  lost  your  bloom 

85 


I  Look  Like  a  Minister's  Wife 

and  your  step  is  heavy  and  slow.  The  children 
look  unhappy  and  forlorn,  as  if  they  had  lost 
their  mother.  As  for  myself  I  must  have  been 
asleep.  I  was  busy  and  abstracted,  inexcusably 
so,  or  I  would  have  seen  how  things  were  going. 
Now  put  on  your  bonnet  again  and  take  a  drive 
with  me." 

I  did  so  most  gladly;  I  had  not  taken  a  drive 
with  John  for  a  month.  The  breeze  was  in- 
vigorating and  the  sense  of  somebody  coining  be- 
tween me  and  my  deformed  sense  of  duty  was 
most  refreshing.  Still  I  felt  a  trifle  ill  at  ease, 
for  little  Paul  might  die  in  the  night  and  I  be 
needed.  My  conscience,  so  long  used  to  being 
gauged  by  the  demands  of  others,  reproached 
me,  and  I  ventured  to  say  to  John:  "I  might 
have  gone  for  to-day.  I  don't  like  to  offend 
those  good  people,  nor  to  be  a  drawback  to  you 
in  your  work.  I  want  to  be  your  helpmeet  and 
I  am  afraid  this  sudden  refusal  will  be  an  injury 
to  you,  dear." 

"An  injury  tome!"  John  echoed,  and  he 
laughed  heartily.  "  I  had  no  intention  of  bring- 
ing my  wife  here  to  be  a  nurse  and  undertaker 
and  maid=of-all-work  for  people  in  well-to-do 
circumstances  who  have  no  more  conception  of 
what  is  right  and  just  than  to  ask  you  to  do  all 
this.  Even  if  you  were  thoughtless  enough  to 
offer  to  do  it  they  should  not  accept.  I  wonder 
86 


I  Look  Like  a  Minister's  Wife 

whence  sprang  the  idea  that  a  minister's  wife  is 
the  perquisite  of  his  flock,  and  who  was  respon- 
sible for  the  first  female  martyr  in  this  line?" 

"I  don't  know,"  I  said,  suddenly  bereft  of 
what  I  had  considered  good  and  sufficient  rea- 
sons in  time  past.  "  Perhaps  it  was  the  custom 
of  the  early  church.  You  know  we  are  con- 
stantly finding  out  new  things  that  the  early 
church  did.  Paul  said  '  help  those  women  who 
labored  with  us.'  I  suppose  they  had  worn 
themselves  out  in  helping  take  care  of  the  sick 
and  doing  good  generally.  But  aside  from  the 
early  church,  John,  it  must  have  been  the  orig- 
inal intention  when  Eve  was  created  for  a  '  help= 
meet '  for  her  husband." 

"  You  emphasize  the  wrong  word,"  John 
replied.  "  You  should  say  help-meet,  not  help- 
meet. People  mostly,  even  women  themselves, 
italicise  the  help  and  so  they  go  on  doing  what 
they  have  no  right  nor  calling  to  do.  Eve  was  to 
be  a  helpmeet  for  Adam,  not  a  helpmeet  for 
the  whole  thoughtless  neighborhood.  How  can 
you  be  a  help  to  me  when  you  are  tired  and 
worn  with  other  people's  affairs?  A  minister's 
wife  has  as  much  right  to  personality  as  any 
other  woman,  and  more.  Where  is  my  over- 
coat? The  wind  changes."  "  Oh,"  I  said,  "  Mrs. 
By-ends  borrowed  it  last  week.  Her  husband 
was  going  to  the  beach  and  his  coat  was  not  ex- 
87 


I  Look  Like  a  Minister's  Wife 

actly  the  right  weight,  but  they  promised  to 
bring  it  back  in  a  week  or  two.  I  had  forgotten 
all  about  it." 

"  I  suppose,"  said  John,"  that  the  Feeble=minds 
have  your  warm  shawl,  and  the  Dare;not-lies 
your  bread  pans,  and  the  Ready4o-halts  your 
baby  carriage.  We  will  see  about  this." 

When  we  got  home  John  came  in  and  took  an 
inventory  of  household  stock.  It  was  as  he  had 
surmised.  Almost  every  other  thing  in  the  kitch- 
en department  was  loaned  and  a  good  deal  of 
the  clothing  besides. 

"  This  will  never  do,"  John  said. 

"Why,  John!"  I  exclaimed,  very  much  sur- 
prised, "  does  it  not  say  in  the  Sermon  on  the 
Mount,  '  Give  to  him  that  asketh  of  thee  and 
from  him  that  would  borrow  of  thee  turn  not 
thou  away?'  And  again,  'If  any  man  sue  thee 
at  the  law  and  take  away  thy  coat  give  him  thy 
cloak  also? '  How  could  I  be  obedient  to 
this  plain  scripture=teaching  if  I  refused  to  loan 
anything  or  even  to  give  away  if  I  were  asked? 
We  are  to  give  everything  asked  of  us.  The 
words  are  plain  and  cannot  mean  anything  else 
than  what  they  say.  Here  is  the  Bible.  Read  it 
and  see." 

John  read  at  the  place  I  had  turned  to. 
"  If  any  man  will  sue  thee  at  the  law  and  take 
away  thy  coat  let  him  have  thy  cloak  also,"  and 
88 


I  Look  Like  a  Minister's  Wife 

"  Give  to  him  that  asketh  of  thee  and  from  him 
that  would  borrow  of  thee  turn  not  thou  away." 
I  felt  sure  that  I  had  quoted  the  texts  correctly 
and  I  was  glad  for  John  to  see  that  I  had  acted 
conscientiously  in  the  matter. 

"  Now,"  said  John,  "  let  us  study  this  point 
and  see  how  it  stands.  Jesus  was  bringing  up 
some  items  in  the  old  law.  These  could  not  but  be 
familiar  to  the  disciples.  We  will  turn  to  Deut. 
xv.  8, 11.  It  is  a  command  that  we  be  pitiful  to 
the  poor  and  needy.  '  Thou  shalt  not  harden 
thy  heart  nor  shut  thy  hand  from  thy  poor  brother, 
but  thou  shalt  open  thy  hand  wide  unto  him,  and 
thou  shalt  surely  lend  him  sufficient  for  his  need 
in  that  which  he  wanteth.  For  the  poor  shall 
never  cease  out  of  the  land,  therefore  I  com- 
mand thee  saying  thou  shalt  open  thy  hand 
wide  unto  thy  brother,  to  thy  poor,  and  to  thy 
needy  in  thy  land.' 

"  Now  let  us  turn  to  Luke,  sixth  chapter,  where 
the  Master  explains  his  meaning:  'If  ye  lend 
to  them  of  whom  ye  hope  to  receive,  what  thank 
have  ye? — for  sinners  also  lend  to  sinners,  to  re- 
ceive as  much  again.  But  love  ye  your  enemies 
and  do  good,  and  lend  hoping  for  nothing  again.' 

"  There  seem  but  two  classes  to  whom  it  is 
our  duty  to  lend, — the  poor  and  our  enemies. 
Our  enemies  are  not  likely  to  ask  for  a  loan,  and 
as  for  the  other  class,  '  He  that  giveth  to  the 


I  Look  Like  a  Minister's  Wife 

poor  lendeth  to  the  Lord.'  If  one  whom  we 
know  to  be  our  enemy  were  in  need  we  might 
win  him  by  the  offer  of  a  loan.  He  will  not  ask 
the  favor.  It  is  we  who  must  make  the  ad- 
vance." 

"As  to  giving  one's  coat  away  there  is  good 
ground  for  that,  under  conditions.  If  a  man 
sue  thee  at  the  law,  if  thou  hast  wronged  any 
man  to  so  great  an  extent  that  he  may  have  re- 
course to  the  law,  and  so  the  justice  of  his  com- 
plaint is  made  clear,  give  him  more  than  restitu- 
tion. Double  the  sum  which  was  his  by  right, 
thereby  confessing  thy  own  sin  and  making  it 
possible  for  you  to  love  each  other  as  you  never 
could  if  thou  hadst  not  given  thy  cloak  also. 
It  is  impossible  for  two  parties  to  meet  on  this 
ground  and  maintain  the  old  resentment.  How 
many  have  had  recourse  to  the  law,  and  when  at 
last  justice  has  settled  the  claims  there  is  enmi- 
ty! Hate  and  evil  are  in  either  heart.  Spite 
rules  out  the  Christian  graces.  There  is  hardly 
a  community  where  such  a  condition  does  not 
exist.  There  may  have  been  recourse  to  arbi- 
tration instead  of  to  the  civil  courts,  but  in 
either  case  there  has  been  'suing  at  the  law.' 
If  the  party  at  fault  would  go  to  his  brother  and 
say:  'You  have  taken  my  coat,  I  acknowledge  it 
to  be  yours;  here  is  my  cloak  also;  let  it  be  a 
pledge  of  peace  between  us,'  how  different 
99 


I  Look  Like  a  Minister's  Wife 

would  be  the  result!  In  many  cases  the  origi- 
nal 'coat'  would  be  returned.  We  do  sorely 
need  the  giving  of  the  'cloak,'  tho  meeting  more 
than  half  way  in  a  dispute,  the  tangible  evi- 
dence of  that  measure  of  love  which  '  giveth  all 
things,  hopeth  all  things,  endureth  all  things.' 
"  How  we  fall  far  short  of  understanding  the 
Master — as  if  he  meant  that  Mr.  By-ends  should 
borrow  my  overcoat  and  hasten  its  already 
threadbare  condition!  Mr.  By-ends  is  wel!4o= 
do,  better  able  to  lend  to  me  than  I  to  him.  Be- 
cause he  asks  my  overcoat,  shall  I  hasten  to  offer 
him  my  other  clothing?  The  question  asked  so 
long  ago  by  one  who  would  shirk  his  duties  and 
have  Jehovah's  sanction  for  all  the  race  is  a  mo- 
mentous question  now:  'Am  I  my  brother's 
keeper?'  Yes,  a  hundred  times  over.  My 
brother  is  what  I  keep  him.  I  will  not  keep 
him  a  beggar." 

91 


CHAPTEK  XIII 
My  Neighbors  Stop  Borrowing 

I  saw  that  John  was  getting  the  best  of  the 
argument;  but  I  liked  to  prolong  it  as  much  as 
possible,  so  I  said:  "  But  just  think  of  offending 
these  people.  •  They  will  leave  the  church  per- 
haps if  we  are  disobliging,  or  lend  their  influ- 
ence against  you.  Better  to  keep  the  peace  at 
all  hazards.  Mr.  By-ends  is  an  officer  of  the 
church,  you  know." 

"  These  people  to  whom  you  are  loaning  your 
best  things  do  not  thank  you,"  John  replied. 
"  They  esteem  you  less  highly  than  if  you  re- 
fused. There  is  no  truer  aphorism  than  Shake- 
speare's own:  'Neither  a  borrower  nor  a  lend- 
er be,  for  loan  oft  loses  both  itself  and  friend, 
and  borrowing  dulls  the  edge  of  husbandry.' 
The  borrowing  system  has  ruined  many  a  friend- 
ship. It  is  degrading  to  both  the  borrower  and 
lender.  Give  to  the  poor  always,  and  when  by 
stress  of  necessity  they  would  cover  their  alms* 
needing  by  the  request  of  a  loan,  we  will  lend  to 
them  hoping  for  nothing  again,  respecting  their 
desire  to  make  returns,  of  course.  '  He  that  giv- 
eth  to  the  poor  lendeth  to  the  Lord.'  I  would 

92 


My  Neighbors  Stop  Borrowing 

make  a  parallel  passage  for  that  and  write,  '  He 
that  lendeth  to  the  rich  honoreth  not  the 
Lord.' " 

Just  then  the  door  opened  and  our  neighbor, 
Mrs.  Light=o£-mind,  appeared  with  her  three 
children.  (I  shall  continue  to  borrow  from 
Bunyan  until  I  am  done  with  this  subject.) 
She  said,  "Good  morning,"  and  asked  if  I  would 
"  take  care  of  the  little  ones  "  while  she  went  to 
the  city,  She  "  would  get  home  before  dark  if 
possible,"  and  "  would  I  excuse  their  appear- 
ance?" she  had  "brought  them  just  as  they 
were  without  changing  their  clothes." 

I  sighed  and  said,  "  Certainly,"  as  I  had  so  of- 
ten done  before  in  the  case  of  many  of  my 
neighbors'  children.  The  fact  is,  I  had  kept  a 
small  orphan  asylum  on  demand  and  cared  for 
neglected  children,  feeling  in  this,  as  in 
other  matters,  that  I  was  "helping  John." 

John  looked  at  Mrs.  Light-of-mind  and  then 
at  me  and  then  at  the  three  untidy  children 
Then  he  said:  "Mrs.  Light= of  =  mind,  will  you 
kindly  excuse  my  wife  to-day?  She  is  over- 
worked, I  fear.  You  see  she  is  generous  to  a 
fault,  and  I  shall  have  to  persuade  her  to  be 
content  with  caring  for  me  and  the  children." 

Again  I  felt  my  burdens  lightened  and  a  grat- 
ifying sense  of  having  a  protector  between  me 
and  imposition.  At  the  same  time  my  long; 

93 


My  Neighbors  Stop  Borrowing 

schooled  but  misplaced  conception  of  benevo- 
lence was  a  little  shocked.  My  neighbor  went 
her  way  and  John  went  his  into  the  study. 

Well,  I  left  off  loaning  except  to  the  poor.  It 
required  no  small  ingenuity  sometimes  to  break 
myself  and  my  neighbors  of  the  habit.  As  I 
intimated,  the  article  returned  was  at  times  defi- 
cient in  quality  and  so  we  had  been  the  losers. 
I  was  helped  a  trifle  by  a  hint  from  an  aunt  of 
mine.  It  is  a  pity  to  record  so  undignified  an 
action  on  the  part  of  a  minister's  wife,  but  it's 
the  truth,  and  so  I  tell  it. 

When  Mrs.  Ignorance  brought  back  some  tea 
which  she  had  borrowed  and  I  knew  it  was  not 
the  same  that  we  were  using,  I  simply  set  it  up 
in  the  cupboard. 

The  next  time  Mrs.  Ignorance  ran  in  to  bor- 
row a  little  tea  for  supper  I  took  down  her  old 
stock,  and  in  a  perfectly  innocent  way  handed  it 
to  her,  saying:  "  Certainly;  here  is  the  last  you 
brought  me;  I  haven't  had  occasion  to  use  it." 
She  took  it  with  a  slight  change  of  color  and  did 
not  borrow  again. 

It  was  the  same  with  many  other  things — but- 
ter, eggs,  flour  and  sugar.  No  one  could  com- 
plain if  I  loaned  them  their  own  stock.  In  some 
cases  I  no  longer  had  some  "  to  spare"  of  a  de- 
sired article,  and  in  others,  as  with  clothing  and 
household  utensils,  we  were  "going  to  use  them 

94 


My  Neighbors  Stop  Borrowing 

ourselves."  It  did  not  take  so  very  long  to  turn 
over  a  new  leaf  and  everybody  was  the  gainer. 
Nor  did  I  give  offense.  I  had  a  good-natured, 
merry  sort  of  manner  that  smoothed  many  a 
rough  place. 

It  is  remarkable  the  amount  of  borrowing  that 
is  done,  especially  among  rural  people.  They 
will  borrow  a  thing  from  a  neighbor  wholivesas 
far  away  as  the  grocery  store  out  of  sheer  habit. 
The  pity  of  it  is,  innocent  little  children  are  usu- 
ally the  operators.  "Here,  Jennie,  borrow 
this,"  or  "Here,  Johnnie,  borrow  that"  brings 
up  a  child  in  the  way  its  mother  goes.  And  so 
we  have  races  of  borrowers.  I  mean  generations, 
not  races. 

I  often  told  John  he  had  better  borrow  his 
sermons  from  some  source  and  so  be  on  the 
common  plane.  But  John  said  that  was  "mean- 
er than  borrowing  flour  and  butter." 

As  to  having  so  many  callers  at  odd  hours  from 
people  with  no  intention  but  to  kill  time,  John 
said  I  must  have  it  understood  that  "except  on 
three  afternoons  in  the  week  I  was  not  at  home 
to  miscellaneous  company."  He  had  a  screen 
with  locked  door  placed  around  the  back  en- 
trance, and  this  gave  me  my  kitchen  undisturbed. 
How  much  more  free  I  felt,  and  how  much  more 
an  independent  woman !  I  regained  lost  strength 
and  grew  young  and  plump  again.  I  had  time 

95 


My  Neighbors  Stop  Borrowing 

to  ride  horseback  and  attend  lectures  and  romp 
with  the  children.  T  wrote  an  occasional  squib 
for  the  papers,  too,  for  which  I  received  many  a 
dollar  from  good=natured  editors.  In  short,  I 
became  light-hearted  and  free.  I  lost  that  re- 
semblance to  the  ordinary  minister's  wife  which 
had  distinguished  me  the  year  before. 

If  this  allusion  to  a  very  personal  experience 
chances  to  fall  before  the  notice  of  a  well-mean- 
ing, but  too  much  engrossed  minister,  let  him 
take  two  looks  at  his  wife  the  next  time  they  sit 
down  to  tea.  And  if  that  minister's  congrega- 
tion happens  to  cast  their  eyes  upon  the  page  be- 
fore me,  let  them  also  take  two  looks  at  the  min- 
ister's wife.  All  these  looks  combined  may 
startle  the  lady,  but — results  are  what  we  work 
for. 

96 


CHAPTER  XIV 
Abijah  Noseworthy's  Wild  Oats 

During  the  interval  when  the  church  at  Sun- 
rise Park  had  no  pastor,  individual  members 
kept  up  the  prayer=meeting.  Now,  a  prayer^ 
meeting  conducted  without  a  recognized  leader, 
or  by  a  self-appointed  leader,  is  sometimes  a 
thing  of  distinction.  John  doubted  the  wisdom 
of  keeping  up  such  a  prayer=meeting,  especially 
when  the  meeting  is  held  in  the  church  as  a  pub- 
lic affair.  A  house-to-house  prayer-meeting  is 
different.  There  is  a  host,  who,  with  some  re- 
sponsibility is  temporary  leader,  and  a  meeting  of 
this  sort  approaches  nearer  the  original  type. 

At  Sunrise  Park  the  weekly  prayer^meeting 
came  to  be  a  curious  institution.  Its  tolerated 
leader  was  Abijah  Nose  worthy.  He  was  the  law 
personified.  If  humanity  had  justice  meted  out  to 
it,  in  his  opinion,  it  would  be  committed  to  "  end- 
less pangs  " — excepting  himself,  and,  when  he 
felt  especially  magnanimous,  a  few  others.  He 
was  the  "main  stand-by"  in  prayer^meeting. 
The  meeting  never  "dragged,"  as  the  saying  is, 
when  he  was  there. 

97 


Abijah  Noseworthy's  Wild  Oats 

How  well  I  remember  him!  Sharp-featured, 
keen^eyed,  a  trifle  nervous,  of  firm  and  emphatic 
convictions  concerning  himself,  and  sometimes 
concerning  others.  His  eye  wandered,  or  rather 
dwelt  upon  every  individual  before  him  as  if  he 
read  them.  A  happy  tone  of  voice,  a  trustful, 
hopeful  prayer,  was  sure  to  be  followed  by  a  tes- 
timony from  Abijah  Noseworthy .  And  Abi jah's 
testimonies  had  grown  exceedingly  personal. 
When  he  rose  to  speak  he  waved  his  handker- 
chief as  if  it  were  a  signal  to  warn  other  barks 
off  the  coast.  He'd  "  been  there."  But  he  was 
"safely  over."  He  always  pointed  to  a  time  in 
the  "  far-distant  past"  with  a  twirl  of  his  thumb 
over  his  right  shoulder,  when  he  had  been  "  the 
chief  of  sinners." 

It  was  such  a  long  while  ago  when  Abijah 
Noseworthy  was  a  sinner  that  one  would  think 
the  years  might  have  buried  it  in  mercy  to  his 
hearers  if  not  to  himself.  It  was  in  the  "  far- 
away past"  that  Abijah,  according  to  his  own 
testimony,  had  "sown  his  wild  oats."  He  had 
"dipped  into  the  very  dregs  of  sin"  to  use  his 
own  words.  I  took  occasion  to  inquire  into  the 
early  history  of  the  man  from  sheer  curiosity, 
not  thinking  it  possible  that  such  a  sinner  as  he 
averred  himself  to  have  been  could  have  been 
born  and  brought  up  in  Sunrise  Park.  I  was 
assured  by  more  than  one  veteran  as  old  as 
98 


Abijah  Noseworthy's  Wild  Oats 

Abijah  that  he  was  the  son  of  a  deacon,  or  elder, 
or  some  other  dignified  church  official,  and  that 
he  had  been  reared  in  extreme  religious  severity. 
He  had  never  been  twenty  miles  from  his  birth- 
place, and,  to  the  knowledge  of  none  of  his  con- 
temporaries, had  he  ever  swerved  from  the  "path 
of  rectitude." 

Abijah  had  never  alluded  to  his  "  apprentice- 
ship to  the  devil"  as  he  termed  it  until  he  was 
past  sixty.  Then,  during  some  revival  services 
when  rival  testimony  was  being  given  of  a 
gruesome  type,  he  suddenly  remembered  what  a 
sinner  he  had  been. 

Whether  it  was  an  overwhelming  conviction 
that  in  some  way  he  had  been  cheated  out  of 
the  good  times  he  ought  to  have  had,  or  that  he 
had  been  reading  the  "  Power  of  Religion  "  and 
imagined  himself  to  have  been  in  early  life  a 
Cardinal  Wolsey  or  a  John  Wilmot,  we  never 
knew.  He  would  rise  in  prayer-meeting  and  de- 
clare that  he  had  been  "worse  than  anybody 
present."  This  was  news  to  his  friends,  and  at 
first  it  shocked  them.  Abijah  held  up  his 
hands  in  holy  horror  of  himself.  He  would  put 
into  the  densest  shade  the  last  speaker  who  had 
timidly  alluded  to  his  own  past  sinful  career. 

"  I've  been  a  worse  sinner  than  any  of  you!" 
Abijah  would  exclaim,  as  if  he  had  suddenly 
discovered  the  one  thing  in  which  he  had  ex- 

99 


Abijah  Noseworthy's  Wild  Oats 

celled.  "  I've  been  the  blackest  of  sinners,  I 
say;  I  was  steeped  in  sin;  given  over  to  the  ad- 
versary; a  victim  to  every  sort  of  wickedness; 
of  every  sort,  I  say." 

As  time  and  opportunity  continued,  Abijah 
went  more  into  details.  He  told  of  how  he  had 
been  "lost,  utterly  lost";  and  finally  of  his 
conversion  "  in  the  ball=room."  Now,  the  sug- 
gestion of  Abijah  Noseworthy's  ever  having  in- 
dulged in  the  mazes  of  the  dance,  more  than 
once  caused  a  smile  to  ripple  over  the  faces  of 
the  young  folks  and  even  the  elders  exchanged 
inquiring  glances.  When  he  recounted  his  ad- 
ventures in  a  "  gambling  hell,"  the  plot  was  of 
so  common  and  modern  a  type  that  distrust  was 
plainly  written  upon  every  face. 

Suddenly  breaking  away  from  the  "black 
past "  Abijah  would  straighten  himself  and, 
gazing  into  the  far  corner  of  the  sanctuary,  ex- 
claim with  grave,  slow  pathos:  "  But  look  at  me 
now,  my  friends!  lam  a  spared  monument — a 
spared  monument!" 

A  curious-looking  monument  certainly  was 
Abijah  Noseworthy.  Still  he  was  like  a  monu- 
ment, come  to  think  of  it,  for  the  history  of  his 
sins  welded  so  into  his  peculiar  personal  ap- 
pearance made  a  lasting  memorial  of  him. 

The  apparent  pride  with  which  he  spoke  of 
his  sinful  career  was  noticeable.  I  fancy  that  if 
xoo 


Abijah  Noseworthy's  Wild  Oats 

any  one  of  his  hearers  had  alluded  to  the  man 
as  a  victim  of  early  vice,  Abijah  would  scarcely 
have  acquiesced.  He  was  fond  of  the  contrast 
which  he  knew  by  practice  so  well  to  make*  be- 
tween his  imagined  "  dark  past "  and  his  pres- 
ent status.  He  was  "  the  hardest  case "  in  my 
opinion  that  we  met  with  in  the  new  church — so 
self-complacent;  so  righteous  by  comparison; 
so  devoid  of  charity  towards  others.  But  John 
was  hopeful  even  of  him. 

By  degrees  the  prayer-meeting  took  on  new 
shape.  John  suggested  that  if  any  of  us  had 
sinned  we  had  better  forgive  ourselves  if  we  had 
been  forgiven,  and  not  allude  to  a  past  which, 
in  the  sight  of  heaven,  was  as  though  it  had 
never  been.  "  Shame,"  he  said,  "  ought  to  make 
a  man  reticent  on  some  points.  It  is  enough 
that  we  all  have  sinned.  Keeping  ourselves 
and  our  neighbors  continually  in  mind  of  our 
sins  by  recounting  them  is  only  second  to  prac- 
ticing them." 

John  thought  that  personal  testimony  in 
prayer-meeting  has  its  temptations.  He  doubted 
the  expediency  of  frequent  allusions  to  one's 
personal  feelings  outside  of  an  occasional  refer- 
ence to  the  continuance  of  one's  faith.  If  one 
feels  happy,  one's  neighbors  will  notice.  Hap- 
piness or  "low  spirits"  very  much  depends 
upon  digestion.  One's  feelings  are  no  criterion 

101 


Abijah  Noseworthy's  Wild  Oats 

as  to  an  exemplary  life.  The  fact  that  a  man  is 
peaceful  is  no  proof  that  he  is  holy. 

If  one  becomes  possessed  of  a  sanctified 
heart  and  life  the  community  will  recognize  the 
fact  as  surely  as  they  know  that  spring  has 
come.  It  needs  no  testimony  of  the  lips  to  con- 
vince them.  Holiness  is  luminous  of  itself;  to 
allude  to  the  possession  of  it  too  frequently 
puts  one  in  a  position  to  be  contradicted.  It  is 
as  if  one  feared  adverse  testimony. 

To  testify  as  to  another's  holy  life  is  a  differ- 
ent thing.  "  Let  us  have  more  testimony  of 
this  sort  in  prayer-meeting,"  John  would  say. 
"  We  are  all  bad  enough ;  none  of  us  is  good 
enough.  By  their  fruits  ye  shall  know  them; 
not  by  what  they  say." 

The  personal  pronoun  "I"  should,  for  the 
most  part,  be  relegated  to  the  "closet." 

102 


CHAPTER  XV 
Silas  Coombs  and  Death-bed  Scenes 

There  was  another  character  at  Sunrise  Park, 
the  exact  opposite  of  Abi jah  Noseworthy.  Silas 
Coombs  was  a  sunny,  hopeful  man,  of  sweet  faith 
and  glowing  Christianity.  He  never  alluded  to 
his  own  sins  nor  to  those  of  anybody  else.  It 
is  doubtful  if  he  had  ever  committed  any  great 
sins;  and  it  is  certain  that,  in  his  presence, 
others  forgot  their  own.  To  make  a  man  forget 
his  sins  is  almost  equal  to  making  him  forsake 
his  sins.  By  thinking  about  one's  sins  over* 
much  one  exaggerates  them  as  he  also  can 
his  virtues.  To  turn  away  from  sin  is  not  to 
have  it  in  mind  any  more. 

In  prayer-meeting  Silas  Coombs  was  a  burn- 
ing and  a  shining  light.  Everybody  loved  him; 
the  giddy  and  forward  most  of  all.  Did  any 
member  discourse  upon  the  sorrows  of  life  and 
the  "purifying  influence  of  grief,"  Silas  Coombs 
was  sure  to  put  a  bright  side  upon  it  all. 
"  Sometimes  I  am  afraid  I  am  a  sinner  let  alone," 
he  said.  "Seems  as  though  I  never  had  any 
trouble.  The  sun  has  been  always  shining." 

103 


Silas  Coombs  and  Death=bed  Scenes 

And  yet  we  all  knew  that  he  had  seen  many 
sorrows. 

I  believe  Silas  Coombs  led  more  people  to  the 
"light"  than  an  ordinary  minister,  and  yet  he 
never  preached  a  sermon.  He  never  prayed  in 
meeting  neither,  except  as  he  said  the  Lord's 
Prayer  with  the  rest.  But  he  must  have  done 
a  great  deal  of  praying  out  of  meeting,  and  he 
prayed  with  others,  too.  He  would  go  to  the 
woods  nutting,  or  fishing  with  the  boys.  With 
one  boy  he  would  happen  to  stroll  away  from 
the  rest,  and  before  the  boy  knew  it  he  and  Silas 
Coombs  would  be  kneeling  on  some  mossy  bank 
together.  It  was  a  surprise  to  the  boy,  I  am 
sure,  though  how  far  Silas  Coombs  had  contrived 
the  plot  nobody  knew.  It  was  a  picture — the 
gray=haired  man,  little  and  bent  of  figure,  but 
cheery  of  face,  taking  a  day's  outing  with  the 
boys  just  as  if  he  were  a  boy  himself.  Nobody 
will  ever  know  till  the  "books  are  opened"  how 
much  that  neighborhood  owed  to  Silas  Coombs. 

He  visited  the  dying  with  a  defined,  certain 
joy  in  his  face  that  must  have  daunted  Death 
with  its  very  surety  of  hope.  Often  he  was 
sent  for,  and  asked  to  come,  as  if  his  presence 
were  a  sort  of  challenge  to  the  grim  messenger. 
And  he  always  went,  hymn-book  in  hand.  No 
matter  whether  the  person  about  to  pass  away 
were  conscious  or  not,  there  stood  Silas  singing 

104 


Silas  Coombs  and  Death=bed  Scenes 

the  Boul  away  as  if  the  final  issue  depended 
upon  his  faithfulness. 

He  seldom  asked  any  questions,  but,  as  he  ex- 
pressed it,  "  hoped  for  the  best."  He  was  an 
old-fashioned  singer  and  the  words  of  the 
ancient  tunes  were  clear. 

"  On  Jordan's  stormy  banks  I  stand,"  floated 
out  at  open  windows  without  a  quaver.  There 
was  assurance  in  the  voice  as  if  "  Canaan's  fair 
and  happy  land  "  came  down  to  meet  "  Jordan's 
stormy  banks  "  on  the  near  side.  It  came  to  be 
a  saying:  "If  Silas  Coombs  was  there  the  boat- 
man pale  waited  with  his  hat  off  on  the  farther 
bank  while  Silas  bore  the  dying  one  across  and 
deposited  him  bodily  in  '  sweet  fields  beyond 
the  swelling  flood '." 

John  used  to  say  that  when  he  came  to  die  he 
wanted  Silas  Coombs  to  take  him  over. 
"  When  thou  passest  through  the  waters  I  will 
be  with  thee."  It  is  possible  for  Him  to  be 
with  thee  in  the  person  of  Silas  Coombs  or 
some  other  singing  saint.  Silas  will  not  be  on 
this  side  to  take  John  over,  for  he  went  across 
himself  years  ago,  too  weak  to  sing — but  John 
sang  for  him.  At  the  close  of  the  lines  "  Could 
we  but  stand  where  Moses  stood  and  view  the 
landscape  o'er  "  John  stopped,  for  the  look  on 
Silas'  calm  face  assured  him  that  the  old  man 
was  there  in  advance  of  the  "  flood." 

105 


Silas  Coombs  and  Death=bed  Scenes 

Abijah  Noseworthy  was  also  often  at  the  side 
of  the  sick  and  dying,  though  he  was  seldom 
sent  for.  With  his  long  and  disconsolate  face 
he  would  go  gloomily  into  the  sick=room,  ap- 
proach the  bedside,  sigh,  sit  down  resignedly, 
and  read  the  account  of  Dives  and  Lazarus, 
dwelling  on  the  torment  of  Dives  with  a  start- 
ling moderation.  He  always  expressed  little 
hope  for  a  happy  hereafter,  and  if  he  found  a 
dying  man  hopeful  he  cautioned  him  against 
"  feeling  too  sure, "  as  it  was  quite  "  possible  for 
a  person  to  be  deceived." 

One  day  Rachel  Waterbury  came  in  to  ask 
John  to  visit  the  widow  Overman's  son.  He 
was  dying  "  in  great  trouble  and  despair,"  she 
said.  Abijah  Noseworthy  had  been  there  and 
extinguished  the  last  flicker  of  possibility. 

The  young  man  had  been  something  of  a 
prodigal  in  his  late  youth,  though  in  his  child- 
hood he  was  gentle  and  prayerful  and  full  of  a 
child's  sweet  faith.  Away  from  home  "  thieves 
had  fallen  upon  him."  He  had  been  wasting  in 
health  for  a  long  while  and  was  depressed  in 
mind  beyond  description.  As  a  culmination  of 
his  present  troubles  Abijah  Noseworthy  had 
crossed  his  path.  This  "  father  in  Israel "  had 
conscientiously  bereft  him  of  what  his  mother 
had  ardently  hoped  would  be  graciously  his  in 
a  dying  hour.  John  went  immediately  to  see 
106 


Silas  Coombs  and  Death=bed  Scenes 

the  young  man.  The  mother  met  him  at  the 
door  in  an  agony  of  feeling.  Her  eyes  were 
tearless  and  so  full  of  unspoken  sorrow  that 
John  said  he  could  have  wept  at  sight  of  her. 
The  young  man  was  propped  against  the  pil- 
lows, his  great  sparkling  eyes  looking  out  of  the 
window  and  across  the  river  which  meandered 
softly  through  the  fields. 

"  I  am  going,"  he  murmured,  "  without  God 
and  without  hope.  He  says  I  have  sinned  away 
my  day  of  grace.  It  is  written  '  My  Spirit  shall 
not  always  strive  with  man.'  It  is  what  I 
deserve,  and  yet,  and  yet — 

What  he  would  have  said  was  hindered  by  his 
coughing.  "  And  yet,"  John  said,  as  if  it  had 
been  himself  that  was  talking,  "  Jesus  Christ 
came  to  give  us  something  better  than  we  de- 
serve. Who  says  that  you  have  sinned  away 
your  day  of  grace,  my  brother?" 

The  young  man  looked  up.  "  Why,  the  Bible 
says  it,  and  that  good  man  says  it,  and  my  own 
heart  says  it.  I  feel  it.  I  know  it.  I  cannot 
even  pray;  there  is  no  light." 

"Has  Abijah  Noseworthy  prayed  for  you?" 
asked  John. 

"No,"  was  the  reply,  "he  said  he  'couldn't 
pray  the  way  I  was  feeling.'  He  said  there 
wasn't  much  doubt  I  was  lost,  according  to  my 
own  testimony.  As  the  tree  falls,  there  it  will 

107 


Silas  Coombs  and  Death=bed  Scenes 

lie.  He  that  is  unjust  let  him  be  unjust  still. 
Mother,  go  away." 

Mrs.  Overman  was  like  a  being  without  mus- 
cle or  power  of  movement.  She  stood,  straining 
her  eyes  at  John  and  clutching  at  the  footboard 
in  the  agony  of  mother-love.  "  My  sister,  let  us 
pray,"  said  John.  She  knelt  with  him  mechan- 
ically. 

"Our  Father,"  John  said,  "make  thyself 
known  to  this  thy  trustless  child.  Cast  out  the 
demon  of  doubt  and  bid  him  rise  even  to  heaven. 
Thou  art  our  Father — his  Father.  Make  him 
assured  that  when  the  veil  of  his  flesh  is  drawn 
aside  he  shall  see  Thee  without  his  flesh;  with- 
out the  sin  which  has  mortified  the  flesh;  without 
the  despair  which  the  very  weakness  of  the  flesh 
has  made  him  heir  to.  Thou  dost  love  him. 
Far  back  in  his  childhood  he  was  Thy  child  and 
of  such  the  Lord  himself  has  said,  '  They  shall 
never  perish;  they  are  in  My  hand.'  Hold  him 
in  Thy  hand."  And  then  John  read  in  low, 
calm  tones,  that  marvelous  fifty=third  chapter  of 
Isaiah:  "Wounded  for  our  transgressions, 
bruised  for  our  iniquities.  All  we,  like  sheep, 
have  gone  astray.  .  .  .  For  the  transgres- 
sion of  my  people  was  he  stricken.  .  .  .  No 
deceit  in  his  mouth.  .  .  .  He  shall  bear  their 
iniquities.  .  .  .  He  bore  the  sin  of  many." 

108 


Silas  Coombs  and  Death=bed  Scenes 

Then  John  told  the  sick  man  to  go  to  sleep 
and  rest  a  while  and  he  would  come  again  in 
the  morning. 

John  was  so  cheerful  through  and  through 
that  he  infected  this  young  man,  naturally. 
Those  who  are  already  sick  are  so  susceptible  to 
infection.  They  take  everything  that  is  offered 
them  from  sheer  inability  to  reject  it.  It  was 
not  long  before  doubt  and  despair  were  bound- 
ing away  in  the  distance  like  wolves  pursued. 

"How  can  anyone  help  having  faith  in 
Jesus,"  John  said,  "  when  Jesus,  by  the  very 
gift  of  himself,  proved  his  faith  in  man?  Christ 
did  not  doubt  that  the  world  would  be  saved. 
How  then  can  that  world  doubt  the  power  of 
Christ  to  save?"  "And  what  is  faith  to  a  hu- 
man heart  if  it  cannot  itself  make  faith  for  an- 
other? I  will  have  faith  for  you,"  John  said. 
"  You  are  in  pain.  You  have  been  so  long  in 
pain  that  you  have  forgotten  what  it  is  to  be 
well.  You  can  think  of  nothing  but  that  pain 
and  its  counterpart,  the  evil  which  was  in  you 
for  so  long.  You  are  weary  alike  of  the  sin  and 
the  pain.  You  are  sorry  for  the  sin;  it  makes 
the  pain  sharper.  But  see,  Jesus  Christ  came 
into  the  world  to  save  sinners.  Let  Him  bear 
away  your  sin  in  His  own  way;  in  His  own 
way  He  will  also  bear  away  the  pain.  Trust 

109 


Silas  Coombs  and  Death=bed  Scenes 

Him,  and  when  the  pain  and  the  sin  are  both 
gone  you  will  clasp  hands  with  Jesus  and  go 
singing  of  faith  forever." 

And  so  John  held  the  light  while  Frank  Over- 
man went  over  the  river.  Just  before  he  stepped 
down  the  gentle  slope  he  turned  to  his  mother 
and  said:  "  It's  all  right,"  and  John  echoed,  "  It's 
all  right." 

no 


JOHN    HELD    THE    LIGHT    WHILE    FRANK    OVERMAN    WENT    OVER 
THE    RIVER. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

The  Church  has  a  Revival 

» 

As  to  "death^bed  repentances"  John  says  a 
man  ought  to  be  ashamed  who  doubts.  That 
someone  repents  on  his  supposed  death^bed,  re- 
covers, and  repents  that  he  did  repent,  is  no  rea- 
son for  anyone  to  conclude  that  the  repentance 
was  not  genuine.  Such  an  excuse  is  brought  up 
again  and  again  by  men  who  are  too  narrow  to 
admit  of  widening.  Had  the  repentant  passed 
on  into  the  certainty  of  sight  he  would  have  been 
remorseful  that  his  repentance  was  so  tardy. 
Instead  of  passing  on  into  perfect  sight  he  tar- 
ried in  the  same  condition  that  had  blinded 
him  in  the  past.  It  is  the  vision  of  to-day  that 
moves  most  of  us  to  repent  to-day.  "  Lord  re- 
member me,"  cried  the  thief  in  the  extremity  of 
despair.  And  the  answer  came  swiftly,  outrun- 
ning the  despair,  "  To-day  thou  shalt  be  with  Me 
in  Paradise."  To-morrow  the  pain  and  weakness 
and  revolt  of  the  flesh  might  postpone  faith. 
Another  day,  when  there  is  no  to-morrow  for  the 
flesh,  faith  will  be  born  never  to  die. 

As  to  "  dying  in  one's  sins "  John  says  we 
have  no  right  to  pass  judgment  in  a  single  case, 
ill 


The  Church  has  a  Revival 

Someone  has  said  that  dying  is  like  climbing  to 
a  mountain  top.  Almost  out  of  breath  in  the  as- 
cent, quite  out  of  breath  at  the  summit,  the 
traveler  falls  on  his  face  deaf  to  our  cries,  dumb 
as  to  the  expression  of  his  own  thoughts.  We, 
waiting  in  the  valley  below,  conclude  that  the 
ascent  has  wrought  no  change  because, forsooth, 
we  did  not  note  it.  We  would  fain  climb,  too, 
but  we  cannot  now.  We  shall  have  our  turn  by 
and  by  and  alone. 

Waiting,  below  the  mountain,  we  have  no  right 
to  say  of  the  receding  soul,  "He  sees  nothing;  he 
feels  nothing,"  simply  that  his  sight  and  speech 
are  sealed  to  us.  What  he  sees  beyond  the 
crest,  what  he  hears  from  the  other  side,  we  may 
not  know;  it  is  his  secret.  John  says  "a  second 
is  time  enough  to  ravish  the  sight  when  the  film 
of  the  flesh  is  falling  like  scales  from  eyes  that 
have  never  seen."  He  would  never  preach  any 
soul  into  despair  because  men  could  see  only 
despair.  His  comrades  and  the  church  folk  had 
known  the  thief  all  his  life.  They  "knew  he 
had  never  repented."  They  were  away  about 
their  own  affairs  when  he  died.  They  did  not 
hear  the  little  word  that  passed  between  him  and 
heaven  on  the  mountain  crest.  And  they  would 
no  doubt  disbelieve  the  record  when  they  saw 
it.  "Haven't  we  known  that  man?"  they  would 
say.  "As  the  tree  falls,  there  will  it  lie."  "My 
112 


The  Church  has  a  Revival 

Spirit  shall  not  always  strive  with  man."  "That 
thief  has  sinned  out  his  day  of  grace.  He  al- 
ways ridiculed  us  when  we  wanted  to  talk  with 
him  about  his  soul." 

We  forget  that  "  the  secret  of  the  Lord  is  with 
men,"  dying  men,  perhaps.  We  would  deny 
others  the  "  secret "  because  we  ourselves  have 
not  participated.  The  "  bread  and  water  of  life  " 
may  be  rejected  for  very  lack  of  hunger  until 
the  last  moment.  We  deny  that  they  may  be 
partaken  of,  because  perchance  they  are  not  tak- 
en from  our  hand.  "  Stolen  water  is  sweet  and 
bread  eaten  in  secret  is  pleasant."  The  water 
of  life,  stolen,  snatched  from  receding  oppor- 
tunity; the  bread  of  life  eaten  in  the  narrow  pas- 
sage betwixt  two  worlds  may  be  very  "  pleasant," 
and  that  late  communion  seal  the  covenant. 

Not  that  John  recommended  death-bed  repent- 
ance to  anyone  who  had  time  for  other.  He 
would  only  make  the  church  more  charitable, 
less  certain  of  despair  for  those  who  die  and 
leave  no  sign.  "There  shall  no  sign  be  given 
unto  them "  in  some  cases.  There  is  a  sort  of 
religious  conceit  in  the  way  some  sober  people 
cant  their  heads  and  look  hopeless,  and  say  of 
someone,  "  I  have  talked  with  him  a  great  many 
times  and  I  never  got  any  satisfaction.  Let  it 
be  a  warning  to  others."  Usually  such  men  are 
arbitrary.  They  mete  out  justice  to  their  little 

113 


The  Church  has  a  Revival 

children  with  a  swing  of  the  switch,  their  wives 
are  continually  reminded  "  that  they  are  to  be 
subject  to  their  own  husbands,"  and  in  church 
affairs  they  meet  backsliders  with  threats.  Be- 
ing full  of  conceit  themselves,  and  arbitrary, 
they  imagine  the  Heavenly  Father  to  be  like 
them. 

The  first  winter  we  were  at  Sunrise  Park  the 
church  people  proposed  a  revival.  Revivals  were 
in  the  air.  There  was  one  in  almost  every  church 
and  it  seemed  natural  that  we  should  have  one, 
too.  John  acquiesced,  but  not  cordially.  He  is 
conservative  on  the  revival  question.  He  says 
it  is  "  the  Lord's  work  whenever  a  soul  seeks  the 
light,"  but  the  credit  is  given  to  Brothers  So= 
and=So  who  have  a  great  reputation  as  revival- 
ists. 

Well,  we  had  the  revival.  The  "Evangelist" 
in  charge  was  a  youngish  man  of  some  ability 
and  undoubted  Christian  experience.  But  he 
labored  under  mistakes.  John  is  looking  over 
my  shoulder  and  says  kindly  that  I  "ought  to 
be  very  careful  in  speaking  of  this  young  man, 
for  some  of  his  descendants  may  be  living  and 
they  would  take  it  to  heart  if  I  criticised  too 
sharply.  Besides,  it  is  like  putting  one's  hand 
to  'steady  the  ark'  when  one  attempts  to  speak 
of  revivals.  One  is  apt  to  go  too  far  and  say 
what  had  better  not  be  said." 

1U 


IT    WAS    AS    IF    HE    WAS    "TAKING    STOCK. 


The  Church  has  a  Revival 

Now,  with  all  due  respect  for  John,  and  the 
hope  that  I  shall  not  offend  one  of  the  "de- 
scendants" referred  to,  I  am  going  to  tell  all 
about  that  revival.  I  believe  in  revivals  but 
not  in  some  ways  of  conducting  them.  I  do 
not  mean  to  be  sweeping,  however. 

The  day  and  hour  came.  The  "  Evangelist " 
took  his  seat  and  let  his  eye  dwell  upon  the 
faces  before  him.  It  was  as  if  he  were  "  taking 
stock,"  so  to  speak.  He  seemed  to  be  calculat- 
ing how  many  "  assistants "  he  might  expect 
from  the  somewhat  varied  sea  of  faces,  expectant, 
incredulous,  sombre,  resigned,  and  repellent. 
After  due  preliminaries  he  proceeded  to  inform 
his  hearers  that  at  the  last  place  where  he  "  la- 
bored "  he  had  been  the  means  of  saving  forty- 
two  souls.  "  The  humble  means,"  he  added  in 
parentheses.  He  then  appealed  to  "  the  saved  " 
to  come  boldly  out  arid  "  help "  him.  "  As 
many  as  were  willing  to  do  so  would  please 
stand  on  their  feet." 

Now,  this  "  Evangelist "  was  a  stranger  in  the 
place.  How  could  he  know  that  two- thirds  of 
"  the  saved  "  who  pledged  themselves  to  "help  " 
him  that  day  were  men  and  women  of  little  rep- 
utation? But  so  it  was.  To  be  sure  there  were 
no  very  "black  sheep"  among  them;  that  is, 
tqey  were  not  criminals  in  the  common  sense; 
and  they  were  church  members,  Yet  they  were 
U5 


The  Church  has  a  Revival 

defective  in  reputation.  Some  of  them  were, 
or  had  been  recently,  "  a  little  off,"  as  the  say- 
ing is,  on  "  side  issues."  They  had  dipped  into 
"  Christian  Science,"  tried  "  Spiritualism,"  been 
disciples  of  the  last  "Faith  Cure,"  or  turned 
prophets  as  to  coming  "  religious  wars  "  and  the 
speedy  "  end  of  the  world."  A  few  had  per- 
mitted the  temptations  of  business  life  to  sear 
their  consciences  by  way  of  small  gains  that 
had  better  not  have  been.  Other  few  were 
"  kicking  against  the  pricks  "  by  way  of  avoid- 
ing small  debts  and  minor  obligations — trifles  to 
be  sure,  but  sufficient  to  soil  "  the  white  robe  of 
a  child  of  Jesus." 

Like  such  people  in  many  another  community 
these  were  first  to  pledge  themselves  to  "  help  " 
the  Evangelist.  Had  he  been  the  teacher  of 
any  "new  doctrine"  it  would  have  been  the 
same.  There  are  eager  souls  who  are  ready  to 
be  "  filled  with  new  wine  "  of  whatsoever  sort. 
Patched  up  for  the  occasion  these  "  old  bottles  " 
are  not  recognized  by  the  Evangelist  and  so 
"  the  wine  of  the  kingdom  "  is  "  spilled."  Of 
course,  the  more  dignified,  substantial,  always^ 
the-same  church  members  knew  at  a  glance  that 
they  "  couldn't  work  with  that  crowd,"  and  so 
they  kept  their  seats.  If  that  Evangelist  had 
known  as  much  of  human  nature  as  he  ought  to 
have  known  he  would  have  asked  the  first 
US 


The  Church  has  a  Revival 

volunteers  to  fall  back  and  bear  the  cross  in  the 
rear.  The  very  persons  who  kept  their  seats 
and  hence  were  the  subjects  of  severe  censure 
as  being  "cold,"  "lukewarm,"  "doubting 
Thomases,"  etc.,  were  really  the  "  backbone  "  of 
that  church.  They  knew  very  well  that  the 
Evangelist  had  made  his  first  mistake,  but  to 
rectify  it  was  impossible. 

However,  there  were  "  conversions "  and 
"  higher  experiences."  No  one  but  the  Evan- 
gelist knew  exactly  how  many;  he  kept  a  strict 
account.  He  thought  he  was  counting  right, 
but  how  could  he  know  that  nearly  all  of  those 
"higher  experiences"  claimed  under  his  per- 
suasive reign  had  been  in  the  possession  of  the 
same  claimants  off  and  on  for  years?  They  kept 
them,  like  their  best  clothes,  to  bring  out  and 
dust  up  and  wear  every  time  a  revival  came 
their  way.  Yes,  indeed!  There  were  people  in 
our  church  who  always  had  "  higher  experi- 
ences." 

The  Evangelist  every  now  and  then  alluded 
to  the  "stars"  he  wanted  for  his  "crown."  And 
he  already  had  a  good  many.  He  was  like  the 
quack  doctors  who  cure  cases  given  up  by  "  the 
best  physicians."  Very  bad  people  had  acci- 
dentally come  under  his  influence  and  were 
converted;  people  who  had  resisted  "  every  other 
evangelist  and  preacher."  He  told  wonderful 

117 


The  Church  has  a  Revival 

stories  of  these  conversions.  They  were  as 
thrilling  as  the  stories  of  adventure  paid  for  by 
the  line  in  the  newspapers.  Always  the  Evan- 
gelist himself  figured  largely  in  the  foreground. 
He  insisted  on  everybody  being  converted  in  a 
certain  way.  Unless  a  sinner  consented  to  be 
saved  by  certain  methods  quite  to  the  revival- 
ist's satisfaction  there  was  a  "lost  soul"  in  the 
case.  And  they  must  "confess"  in  just  his 
way,  also,  or  they  were  not  right.  Sometimes 
he  would  get  all  the  converts  kneeling  around, 
and  the  good  people  praying  for  them,  all  be- 
lieving the  Evangelist  was  praying,  too.  I  saw 
him  take  a  notebook  from  his  pocket  and  look- 
ing about  upon  the  prostrate  forms  before  him, 
count  them,  as  a  herdsman  counts  his  herd, 
and  jot  the  number  down.  At  the  close  of  the 
revival  he  had  quite  a  "showing"  in  round 
numbers  which  he  read  aloud  as  the  result  of 
two  weeks'  labors,  adding  at  last  it  was  "all 
through  Grace."  At  the  same  time  he  stroked 
his  beard  in  a  self-complacent  manner  which 
gave  one  the  impression  that  he  had  been 
at  least  the  "  right-hand  man  of  Grace."  Then 
he  plead  for  "  a  few  more,"  "  just  a  few  more 
souls  "  to  swell  the  number  to  a  certain  figure, 
very  much  as  an  auctioneer  proclaims  the  bid 
which  he  expects. 

"Oh,  the  egotism  of  it  all!  the  farce  upon  the 
118 


The  Church  has  a  Revival 

work  of  the  Spirit  which  is  like  leaven  hid  in 
the  meal,  or  the  grain  of  mustard  seed  springing 
to  a  new  life  under  the  surface  and  rising  to- 
ward heaven  silently ! "  That  is  what  John  said 
one  day. 

"  But  John,"  I  answered,  "  think  of  all  the 
good  that  has  been  done  at  revival  meetings. 
And  look  at  the  revivalists  themselves.  Many  of 
them  have  been  taken  out  of  the  mire  and  the 
clay.  And  a  man  has  a  right  to  count  his 
gain,  be  it  gold  or  land  or  immortal  souls,  hasn't 
he?  You  wouldn't  do  away  with  revivals  would 
you?" 

"  No,  indeed,"  John  answered,  "  but  I  would 
not  have  evangelists  count  their  converts  as 
if  they  had  a  copyright  on  souls,  or  as  if  they 
drew  a  certain  commission  on  "new  hearts." 
The  disciples  started  out  on  that  line,  but  the 
Lord  reproved  them  by  telling  them  to  rejoice 
rather  that  their  own  names  were  written  in 
heaven.  The  Master  knew  how  great  would  be 
the  temptation  to  tell  in  Samaria  what  they  had 
done  in  Galilee.  He  knew  there  would  be  a 
disposition  to  count  the  possible  stars  in  advance 
of  the  crown." 

Our  revivalist  donned  the  guise  of  Abijah 
Noseworthy,  and  in  his  seeming  solicitude  for 
others  deemed  it  his  duty  to  describe  the  exact 
compound  of  the  mire  and  the  clay  out  of  which 

119 


The  Church  has  a  Revival 

he  had  been  drawn.  At  the  close  of  one  such 
discourse,  when  the  confession  of  the  Evangel- 
ist somewhat  resembled  bravado,  I  overheard  a 
young  man  say  to  another  as  they  walked  arm- 
in-arm  from  the  church  door:  "  My  stars,  Sam, 
I  never  sunk  so  deep  in  sin  as  that;  guess  I'll 
wait  a  while  till  I'm  more  like  the  preacher. 
Make  a  greater  contrast,  you  see,  and  then  I  can 
tell  as  big  a  yarn  as  he  can."  And  the  two 
walked  away  laughing  at  what  they  thought  a 
good  joke. 

After  the  meetings  closed  the  church  settled 
down  on  very  much  its  old  footing.  The  mem- 
bers who  had  professed  the  "higher  experience" 
folded  it  away  to  be  fresh  and  new  when  the 
next  revival  should  warm  them  up.  As  to  the 
new  converts,  I  admit  there  were  one  or  two,  but 
by  far  the  greater  number  went  the  old  way.  It 
was  good  to  have  two  or  three,  but  how  much 
greater  results  would  have  been  obtained  by 
different  methods! 

John  sighed  when  it  was  all  over.  There  was 
a  reaction  in  the  church.  If  evangelists  could 
be  settled  for  life  in  one  place,  and  themselves 
work  out  the  problems  which  they  suggest,  it 
might  be  better.  Our  revivalist  went  his  way 
somewhat  richer  than  he  came.  Just  before 
the  close,  when  the  excitement  was  at  the 
highest  pitch,  some  brother,  after  a  whispered 
120 


The  Church  has  a  Revival 

interview  with  the  leader,  proposed  that  there 
be  a  subscription  taken  up  for  the  good  man. 
"  The  workman  is  worthy  of  his  meat."  Gold 
rattled  and  silver  clinked  and  pennies  jingled. 
There  was  a  goodly  sum  of  money  raised  "  to  de- 
fray expenses."  "Defraying  expenses"  is  a  per- 
ennial excuse  for  asking  alms  for  the  revivalist. 
"  Without  money  and  without  price  "  is  Salva- 
tion to  be  had.  And  yet — I  was  going  to  say 
something  about  a  pretty  good  price,  but  I  de- 
sist. I  will  say,  however,  that  it  will  be  a  "  gold- 
en era  "  when  not  a  copper  is  asked  for  during 
a  revival  meeting.  Let  the  church  see  to  it 
that  new  converts  are  not  asked  to  give  "accord- 
ing to  the  blessing  they  have  received." 
121 


CHAPTER  XVII 
Church  Gossip 

In  the  matter  of  church  gossip  John  was  very 
conservative.  He  was  averse  to  family  gossip, 
neighborhood  gossip,  and  all  kinds  of  idle  talk, 
chitter-chatter,  "  profane  and  vain  babbling  "  as 
the  Scripture  terms  it.  "  Worst  of  all,"  he  said, 
"  is  church  gossip;  pulpit  babbling." 

And  yet,  here  I  am  writing  a  whole  book  of 
gossip  — and  church  gossip,  at  that.  I  am  in- 
consistent. The  very  thing  I  deplore  I  am  do- 
ing. But  I  have  an  object.  To  gossip  with  an 
object,  and  that  a  worthy  one,  is  to  rob  gossip 
of  its  hatefulness — and  yet  I  feel  guilty  all  the 
time  I  am  doing  it. 

"  How  dreadful  it  is,"  John  used  to  say,  "  to 
hear  a  minister  descant  upon  the  erroneous 
creeds  or  practices  of  sister  churches,  making 
these  the  subject  of  an  occasional  discourse;  or 
to  enliven  his  sermons  with  stray  bits  of  fault= 
finding,  sufficient  to  arouse  just  a  little  animos- 
ity in  his  hearers.  For  my  part,"  he  said,  "I 
expect  to  meet  a  long  line  of  bishops  and 
priests,  both  Christian  and  heathen,  in  the  New 
Jerusalem,  and  throw  my  arms  around  their 
122 


Church  Gossip 

necks,  forgetting  everything  but  the  fact  that 
each  and  all  are  forgiven  their  sins.  We  pine 
for  heaven's  freedom,  but  the  chains  of  our  dis- 
tinctive doctrines  prevent  our  seeing  the  Angel 
that  is  waiting  to  unloose  our  fetters.  Love  is 
the  Angel." 

John  made  friends  with  all  the  ministers  of 
whatever  creed — so  they  loved  the  Lord  Jesus. 
He  said  there  was  "  help  and  farther  sight  and 
uplifting  of  spirit  in  such  association."  Once  I 
opened  the  study  door,  thinking  John  had  gone 
down  town,  and  there  were  John  and  a  Catho- 
lic priest  kneeling  side  by  side.  Not  that  John 
"  leaned  toward  the  Catholics  "  as  the  saying  is, 
but  he  had  love  in  his  heart.  Love  is  attractive, 
not  repellent,  and  it  attracts  its  own  kind.  John 
says  "no  man  can  preach  Jesus  and  be  alto- 
gether wrong." 

"  Why,  John,"  I  would  answer,  "  doesn't  the 
Bible  read  that  many  shall  say  at  the  last  day, 
1  Have  we  not  prophesied  in  Thy  name  and 
done  many  wonderful  things?'  And  the  Lord 
will  answer,  '  I  never  knew  you.'" 

John  replies,  "  I  said  no  man  can  preach  Je- 
sus and  be  altogether  wrong.  I  made  no  refer- 
ence to  prophecies,  nor  to  casting  out  devils, 
nor  to  doing  wonderful  things.  There  are 
many  who  do  these  things,  but  who  do  not 
preach  Jesus.  Prophets  are  almost  as  thick  as 

123 


Church  Gossip 

stars.  They  make  doleful  predictions  as  to  the 
'  end  of  the  world,'  approaching  '  tribulation,' 
and  '  clashing  of  arms.'  They  read  Daniel  and 
the  Revelations  in  a  sombre  tone,  as  if  their 
mission  were  to  make  people  nervous  and  ex- 
pectant of  ill,  and  full  of  dread.  The  doctrine 
of  Jesus  is  the  doctrine  of  peace  and  forgive- 
ness and  everlasting  safety.  Having  Jesus 
we  do  not  shudder  at  prophecy.  There  are 
other  impostors  who  work  upon  the  fancy  of 
their  victims.  For  a  show  of  good,  and  to  gain 
confidence,  they  feign  calling  upon  the  Name 
of  the  Lord.  They  cast  out  devils,  or  say  they 
do,  and  work  miracles,  and  heal  diseases,  and  do 
wonders.  But  the  Lord  takes  no  notice,  unless 
to  be  sorry.  '  I  never  knew  you '  will  be  his 
reception  of  their  protestations.  To  preach  Je- 
sus, to  point  men  to  Him,  to  teach  the  world 
that  there  is  a  fair  prospect  of  its  meeting  Him 
face  to  face  one  day — all  this  is  different." 

I  came  to  think  with  John  in  regard  to  the 
love  there  ought  to  be  between  churches  and 
believers.  I  suppose  we  can  no  more  help  dif- 
ferences than  we  can  change  our  individual 
features,  and  yet  we  could  be  more  alike  in 
love. 

It  is  said  that  modern  surgery  restores  lost 
family  likeness  by  interference.  Here  a  tiny 
slit,  and  there  a  stretch,  and  on  this  side  the  di- 

124 


Church  Gossip 

viding  of  a  muscle,  and  the  lineaments  are 
changed.  They  are  induced  to  approach  some 
ancestral  model.  Make  the  application  fit  the 
churches  and  church  members. 

John  used  to  say  there  is  "  a  distinction  be- 
tween sin  and  the  sinner.  It  was  the  sin  that  was 
borne  away  into  the  wilderness;  the  sinner  was 
left  in  the  camp.  We  close  the  Old  Testament 
and  carry  out  the  sinners  to  be  stacked  heaven 
high  or  publicly  whipped.  We  rub  our  holy 
hands  and  give  thanks  that  the  days  of  church 
riots  are  over.  Would  that  we  had  buried  the 
spirit  of  strife  so  that  it,  with  the  body  of  dis- 
sension, might  have  seen  corruption!  Instead 
of  fagots  we  use  religious  newspapers;  and  in 
place  of  pitch,  church  ostracism,  which  is 
equally  adhesive.  And  we  use  all  sorts  of 
strictures,  like  fetters.  We  have  so  swaddled 
the  church  that  it  has  no  room  to  grow,  and  it 
never  is  any  bigger  unless  it  bursts  its  bands  in 
places;  then  it  grows  irregularly,  and  so  much 
by  piecemeal  that  the  body  is  full  of  humps 
and  contortions  and  disproportionate  members. 
We  are  too  impatient  of  one  another.  Let 
Judas  alone  and  he  will  go  and  hang  himself. 
There  is  no  need  of  haste  on  our  part  in  build- 
ing his  gallows." 

The  Lord  himself  set  an  example  of  pa- 
tience and  tolerant  communion.  They  say  it  is 

125 


Church  Gossip 

worry  that  makes  one  grow  old  and  wrinkled. 
Worry  is  what  makes  the  church  wrin- 
kled. Abijah  Noseworthy  used  to  worry  a  good 
deal.  He  worried  lest  the  young  folks  go  too 
fast,  and  the  old  folks  too  slow.  He  was  never 
tired  of  lamenting  that  the  "  ancient  days  were 
better  than  these,"  and  if  he  saw  anybody  hope- 
ful in  regard  to  the  progress  of  the  church,  he 
was  sure  to  throw  cold  water. 

I  forgot  to  mention  Abijah's  wife  when  I  was 
speaking  of  him.  She  was  her  husband's  other 
self.  She  had  been  an  invalid  for  years,  but 
there  was  none  of  the  cheer  and  sweetness  in 
her  presence  one  often  meets  in  the  sick;room. 
Everybody  went  to  see  her  out  of  curiosity,  or 
from  duty,  or  in  sweet  charity.  Somehow  Mis- 
tress Noseworthy  picked  up  all  the  church  gos- 
sip that  was  floating  in  the  air  and  communi- 
cated it  from  church  to  church.  She  was  not 
malicious — far  from  it.  She  simply  dwelt  on 
trouble  of  any  sort,  and  being  of  a  religious 
turn  of  mind  it  was  naturally  religious  trouble 
that  she  dwelt  upon.  She  knew  exactly  what 
minister  was  not  "  just  in  accord"  with  his  con- 
gregation, and  what  proportion  were  in  favor  of 
him.  She  had  an  innocent  way  of  getting  at 
church  secrets  when  no  one  suspected  her  in- 
tentions, and  she  certainly  found  out  some 
things  by  sheer  intuition.  What  she  knew  she 

126 


Church  Gossip 

did  not  tell  as  so  much  slander  or  gossip,  but 
with  deep  sighs  and,  I  must  believe,  real  sor- 
row, she  mentioned  the  "  deplorable  matter." 

Each  church  in  town  knew  the  standing  of 
every  other  church,  and  the  most  pitiable  part 
of  it  was  that  trouble  of  any  sort,  actual  or 
prophesied,  was  sure  to  be  exaggerated. 

What  a  life  the  two  must  have  led! — Abijah 
Noseworthy  and  his  wife.  Nobody  ever  heard 
them  laugh,  nor  yet  were  they  seen  to  cry. 
Laughter  and  tears  are  too  near  of  kin  for  them 
ever  to  have  indulged  in  either.  The  unmis- 
takable fact  that  death  was  "  on  their  track  " 
made  them  miserable,  if  they  ceased  to  think  of 
others  long  enough  to  consider  their  personal 
situation.  The  fear  that  "  dying  grace  "  would 
not  be  granted  them  tortured  the  two  beyond 
description. 

When  his  wife  actually  came  "  to  the  brink," 
Abijah  Noseworthy  stood  by  her,  the  perspira- 
tion like  great  beads  rolling  down  his  face,  and 
almost  screamed  in  his  distress.  "  Hold  on, 
Abigail,  hold  on !"  "  Wrestle,  Abigail,  wrestle 
till  the  break  of  day!"  And  Abigail "  wrestled  " 
till  at  last  her  features  sank  into  the  peace 
which  they  had  never  known  in  life. 

127 


CHAPTER  XVIII 
At  the  Women's  Meeting 

They  were  a  band  of  loving,  earnest,  helpful 
women.  They  were  full  of  faith  in  humble  en- 
terprises which  could  lift  human  kind.  They 
were  a  part  of  the  wall,  so  to  speak,  of  the  church 
proper.  They  bore  their  share  of  the  burdens 
which  leaned  heavily,  roof-like,  upon  the  main 
structure.  They  were  not  preachers  nor  dea- 
conesses nor  nuns.  They  were  simply  women; 
some  rich,  some  poor,  some  with  neither  poverty 
nor  riches  to  move  them  nor  to  hinder  them. 
Mostly  they  were  housekeepers,  snatching  these 
few  hours  from  other  cares  that  they  might  help 
in  the  saving  of  the  world. 

On  the  afternoon  I  am  reporting  they  had 
met  to  cut  and  sew  and  make  garments  for  the 
poorest  in  the  church,  or  the  needy  outside  of 
the  church.  We  had  been  sociably  discussing 
many  topics,  as  women  will,  while  our  fingers 
flew.  We  had  considered  individual  cups  for 
the  Communion  service,  and  actually  planned  a 
way  to  purchase  them,  provided  we  could  gain 
the  consent  of  the  officials  to  substitute  them 

128 


At  the  Women's  Meeting 

for  the  two  or  three  silver  goblets  then  in  use. 
We  had  sighed  that  our  children,  who  "  loved 
the  Lord  Jesus  in  sincerity,"  must  of  necessity 
be  left  at  home  or  sit  regretfully  by  our  side, 
while  we,  who  loved  the  Lord  no  more  than 
they,  had  part  at  his  table.  Then  we  discussed 
the  Sunday  newspaper,  and  the  selling  of  ciga- 
rettes to  minors,  and  the  feeding  and  clothing  of 
our  children,  and  many  other  things  of  mutual 
interest.  There  was  the  decorating  of  the 
church.  We  discussed  the  question  of  using 
tissue  paper  roses  when  the  summer  flowers 
were  gone.  On  this  we  all  agreed  that  it  is  vul- 
gar taste  and  we  voted  out  the  very  suggestion. 
All  but  Mrs.  McEllen  had  spoken;  she  was 
silent.  "What  is  your  opinion?"  asked  Miss 
Waterbury. 

"  Oh,"  replied  the  lady  addressed,  with  a  deep 
sigh,  "  I  was  not  thinking  of  the  question  be- 
fore the  house,  as  they  say  in  Congress,  but  of 
the  pressing  needs  of  our  foreign  missions." 

Every  other  woman  looked  up  from  her  work 
with  a  smile  and  a  glance  around  the  circle. 
Mrs.  McEllen  was  "  labeled,"  so  to  speak,  "  For- 
eign Missions."  She  bore  the  mark  as  officers 
wear  their  uniforms.  It  was  she  who  under- 
scored the  word  "  foreign  "  in  the  church  no- 
tices, so  that  the  minister  would  give  the  proper 

129 


At  the  Women's  Meeting 

inflection  when  he  announced  a  meeting  of  "  the 
board." 

The  subject  was  a  sad  burden  upon  her  shoul- 
ders. I  say  "  sad  burden,"  for  she  always  sighed 
heavily  when  she  mentioned  the  matter.  She 
was  ever  begging  for  foreign  missions,  always 
nudging  her  neighbors  concerning  them,  and 
foreign  missions  were  served  regularly  at  her 
table  without  so  much  as  variety  in  the  sauce 
which  flavored  them.  Her  Sabbath^  school  class 
devoted  itself  to  foreign  missions  before  the 
little  things  had  learned  the  beatitudes,  or  what 
became  of  the  children  who  "  mocked  "  an  old 
white  head. 

Mrs.  McEllen  button=holed  her  gentlemen 
friends  for  funds  to  send  to  India  and  Japan. 
She  got  the  funds,  too,  for  the  subscription 
paper  in  her  hand  reflected  the  resolution  in  her 
face.  She  could  move  en  audience  to  tears  by  her 
appeals  in  behalf  of  China's  womenfolk  mean- 
dering painfully  about  on  dolls'  feet,  or  Moham- 
medan girls  suffering  for  fresh  air  behind  closely 
drawn  veils. 

Mrs.  McEllen,  pouring  over  the  last  Mission- 
ary Journal,  was  quite  unconscious  of  the  fact 
that  her  daughter  Arabella,  was  upstairs  in 
tears  over  the  pain  in  her  sensible  broad  foot  as 
she  pushed  it  into  its  new  number  two  shoe. 
She  did  not  suspect  that  the  vision  of  her  other 
130 


At  the  Women's  Meeting 

daughter,  Isabella,  was  growing  defective  in  con- 
sequence of  peering  between  and  through  the 
irregular  dots  in  her  fashionable  veil,  nor  that 
she  was  at  that  very  moment  adjusting  her  new 
corsets  with  the  lacing  thrown  around  the  han- 
dle of  the  door  to  insure  a  snug  fit. 

Isabella  was  growing  pale  and  her  mother 
noted  it  with  solicitation.  Again  and  again  the 
girl  had  assured  her  friends  that  she  did  not 
lace,  at  the  same  time  drawing  in  her  breath 
and  compressing  the  pit  of  her  stomach  to  show 
that  she  could  indeed  "  shove  her  hand  up  under 
her  corset."  Isabella  had  been  designed  from 
her  birth  for  a  foreign  missionary,  and  her 
mother  sighed  when  she  looked  at  her  slim  fig- 
ure and  sunken  eyes. 

Mrs.  McEllen  was  "whole-souled,"  that  is, 
her  whole  soul  was  absorbed  in  this  one  question, 
and  I  am  not  disparaging  the  question.  It  was 
all  right  for  her  to  be  interested  in  foreign 
missions.  But  for  the  fact  that  she  overlooked 
home  missions  so  entirely,  I  should  have  noth- 
ing to  say  about  her.  Indeed,  I  have  nothing  to 
say  against  her  as  it  is.  I  would  simply  give 
what  I  can  remember  of  the  conversation  of  a 
small  circle  of  loving,  faithful  women  who  met 
in  the  church  parlors. 

As  I  said,  the  other  ladies  exchanged  glances 
when  Mrs.  McEllen  mentioned  foreign  missions. 

131 


At  the  Women's  Meeting 

Good=natured  glances,  of  course,  for  these  women 
had  no  unkind  thought  for  anyone  on  that  par- 
ticular day. 

"Don't  you  think,"  asked  Miss  Waterbury, 
"that  we  have  home  missions  of  interest?" 

Mrs.  McEllen  bit  off  her  thread,  wet  her 
thimble  finger,  pinned  her  work  to  her  knee  and 
sighed.  Then  she  said:  "My  calling  is  for  for- 
eign missions.  I  should  have  been  a  foreign 
missionary  myself  but  for  the  accident  of  meet- 
ing Mr.  McEllen.  I  promised  to  wed  him  be- 
fore I  thought  to  ask  his  opinion  of  my  cherished 
mission.  Then  of  course  it  was  too  late;  but  I 
have  laid  one  daughter  at  least  upon  the  altar. 
As  to  home  missions,  what  is  there  in  the  hum; 
drum,  tame  scenes  about  us  to  suggest  any  kind 
of  mission?  Sabbath=school  is  all  right;  moth- 
ers' meetings,  prayer  circles,  church  services  of 
all  sorts — they  are  but  fuel  for  the  altar  of  for- 
eign missions.  Aside  from  these,  what  is  there 
to  absorb  you  or  me?  I  ask  you  ladies  in  the 
name  of  heathen  lands,  and  their  absolute  claim 
upon  us,  what  is  there  in  Sunrise  Park  worthy 
of  the  name  of  home  missions?" 

Mrs.  McEllen  grew  almost  eloquent  in  her  ap- 
peal, and  she  threw  her  scissors  down  on  the  ta- 
ble with  a  sharp  click  by  way  of  extra  emphasis. 

Miss  Waterbury  arose  and  drank  some  water. 
132 


At  the  Women's  Meeting 

The  ladies  had  nodded  to  her  by  way  of  request 
that  she  speak. 

"I  did  not  drink,"  she  said,  "preparatory  to 
a  speech.  I  was  thirsty.  But  I  will  say  that  I 
do  see  much  and  many  things  about  us  worthy 
of  the  name  of  mission.  For  instance,  there  is 
the  Children's  Home.  How  many  of  us  have 
contributed  either  money  or  labor  to  that?  You 
ought  to  go  there  and  see  those  babies,  orphans 
but  for  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Goodspeed,  who  adopted 
them.  Do  you  think  it  takes  no  money  or  care 
to  house  them  and  clothe  them,  and  feed  them 
five  or  six  times  a  day?  No  pains  to  keep  them 
clean  and  wholesome  and  well?  Where  does  the 
money  come  from  for  their  support?  Faith  laid 
the  foundation  in  the  hearts  of  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Goodspeed  and  love  for  babies  of  the  race  for 
whom  Christ  died  chinks  the  crevices  as  they 
go  along.  There  is  no  gold  behind  the  love 
which  prompts  this  benevolence — only  the  gold 
that  is  in  my  pocket  and  yours  to  be  drawn  up- 
on as  we  are  prompted  by  love.  The  Home  be- 
gan, and  growsj  feebly,  Every  dollar  received 
by  the  managers  and  the  proceeds  of  their  labor 
go  to  those  babies.  They  are  not  their  babies 
more  than  yours  or  mine ;  they  are  God's  babies. 
The  whole  burden  falls  upon  those  two.  It 
makes  me  blush  for  us,  church  women  that  we 

133 


At  the  Women's  Meeting 

are.  We  drop  our  tears  over  the  hard  times  of 
heathen  women,  who,  perchance,  carry  a  few 
sticks  on  their  backs  or  are  denied  the  promiscu- 
ous companionship  of  the  other  sex,  of  necessity 
flirting  with  their  own  husbands  and  brothers 
because  denied  the  luxury  of  new  acquaintan- 
ces." 

Mrs.  More  spoke  next.  She  said:  "I  have 
been  thinking  of  the  Rescue  Home  for  Fallen 
Women.  It  is  not  the  first  one  of  its  kind,  you 
know.  Jesus  of  Nazareth  was  the  first  rescue 
home  for  the  Magdalene.  We  forget  the  re- 
formed girl  in  our  zeal  for  the  reformed  young 
man.  He  is  in  everybody's  heart.  No  need  of 
a  rescue  home  for  him.  There  is  hardly  a 
woman  of  us  who  would  not  welcome  to  her  pew 
on  Sunday  morning  the  young  man  in  broad^ 
cloth  who  last  year  ruined  our  neighbor's  daugh- 
ter. We  may  not  have  been  acquainted  with 
that  neighbor  nor  even  have  seen  her  daughter; 
but  they  are  both  our  neighbors,  nevertheless. 
I  say  we  would  welcome  the  young  man  to  our 
pew  provided  he  is  reformed.  We  would  point 
him  out  as  a  spared  monument  of  grace.  Ma- 
trons would  be  overcordial  in  his  reception  at 
the  church  social,  and  we  would  look  sweet  and 
affable  while  he  escorted  our  daughter  to  supper 
at  a  cosy  tete-a-tete  table.  They  'would  have  a 
good  influence  over  him,'  you  know.  Oh,  yes,  the 

134 


At  the  Women's  Meeting 

reformed  young  man  is  a  lion;  there  is  a  career 
before  him  and  his  class.  But  where  is  our 
neighbor's  daughter,  the  victim  of  the  young 
man's  delay  in  reformation?  No  son  of  ours 
conducts  her  to  a  church  supper  because  she  is 
reformed.  No  family  pew  invites  her  to  its  con- 
spicuous protection.  We  pity  the  women  of  the 
foreign  harem  because  perchance  the  harem  is 
far  away.  What  shall  we  do  for  the  women  of 
the  harems  at  our  door?  Can  we  wash  our  hands 
in  innocency  while  we  do  not  rescue  the  perish- 
ing who  are  crouching  at  our  doors,  or  who  leer 
at  us  scarlet-clothed  from  behind  half-drawn 
blinds?" 

This  speech  and  appeal  was  the  cause  of  quite 
a  flutter  among  the  pocket=handkerchiefs  and 
called  to  mind  a  number  of  instances  during  the 
year  when  a  little  timely  help  might  have  re- 
formed some  young  woman  in  our  very  town. 

Mrs.  Home  was  then  asked  to  speak  as  to 
minor  services  of  missions.  Mrs.  Home  was  the 
lady  who  had  protested  against  the  supplying  of 
missionary  boxes  with  worn-out  clothing,  and 
had  besought  the  generously  inclined  to  "not 
cut  the  buttons  from  garments  donated  to  the 
destitute." 

"  Well,"  she  said,  "  if  you  wish  me  to  mention 
some  simple  way  by  which  to  do  mission  work, 
I  will  mention  the  church  supper.  Why  not 

135 


At  the  Women's  Meeting 

give  what  is  left  to  the  poor?  I  don't  mean  the 
crumbs  and  crusts  and  'chicken  feed'  generally, 
but  good,  whole  cakes  and  loaves  and  salads. 
Ever  so  many  people  around  us  never  see  a 
frosted  loaf  the  whole  year  through  save  as  they 
peep  in,  with  eyes  that  water,  at  the  bakery  win- 
dow. Suppose  we  should  make  such  our  guests 
for  once,  even  if  we  do  not  sell  twenty^five-cent 
tickets  toward  church  repairs.  There  are  other 
church  repairs  than  such  as  pertain  to  carpets 
and  pews  and  curtains  and  furnaces.  Did  you 
notice  that  poor,  oddly  dressed  old  lady  some- 
one brought  to  our  last  church  supper?  I  pit- 
ied the  woman  so!  and  I  thought  how  we  stared 
at  her  — as  if  she  were  out  of  place.  Oh,  I  do 
think  we  ought  each  to  bring  some  such  sister 
and  make  her  know  that  we  do  not  see  her  shawl, 
nor  dress,  we  are  so  glad  to  see  her  very  self. 
What  was  it  the  Master  said  about  the  matter 
— '  When  thou  makest  a  feast  call  not  thy  rich 
neighbors  nor  thy  kinfolk  nor  thy  friends,  but 
call  the  poor,  the  maimed,  the  halt  and  the  blind  ?  " 
"I,  too,  have  thought  of  the  same  thing,"  re- 
marked another  lady.  "  I  am  going  to  do  a 
little  gossiping.  Don't  look  startled.  The  other 
day  I  saw  a  tired,  poor  old  woman  on  the  street 
with  a  bundle  of  clothes  in  her  arms  to  be 
washed  for  somebody.  Miss  Waterbury  drove 

136 


At  the  Women's  Meeting 

along  in  her  new  top  buggy  and  took  the  old 
woman  to  her  home,  soiled  clothes  and  all.  Oh, 
there  might  be  more  'Sweet  Chariots  '  swinging 
low  for  the  poor.  They  greet  us  at  every  turn; 
not  the  very  destitute  who  are  starving,  but  the 
common  poor  who  never  have  a  ride  in  a  nice 
carriage,  nor  a  pudding  with  plums  in  it.  I  saw 
that  same  lady  (and  she  needn't  blush)  wash 
the  dirty  face  of  a  child  one  day,  and  he  was  not  a 
relation  of  hers,  neither.  He  came  around  with  a 
few  miserable  peaches  and  apples  to  sell.  Miss 
Waterbury  told  him  to  wait  a  minute  and  she 
would  make  him  so  trim  people  would  have  to 
buy  his  fruit.  Then  she  washed  his  face  and 
brushed  his  hair  and  made  a  gay  butterfly  under 
his  chin  as  if  she  had  done  nothing  but  arrange 
little  boys'  neckties  all  her  life.  And  if  you'll 
believe  it  she  actually  wiped  that  child's  feet 
after  he  had  washed  them  at  the  pump.  She 
acted  as  if  she  really  loved  him.  I  tell  you  it's 
these  things  that  tell  when  we  talk  of  the  lack 
of  opportunity  in  home  missions." 

Then  Mrs.  Mayberry  said  that,  as  we  were  gos- 
siping, she  might  as  well  tell  her  story:  "  I  was 
visiting  a  lady  the  other  day  who  was  moaning 
because  she  had  never  been  able  to  bring  a  single 
soul  to  Christ,  she  had  '  so  much  to  do  at  home.' 
And  yet  that  very  night  and  every  night  her 

137 


At  the  Women's  Meeting 

four  little  ones  devoutly  kneel  by  their  bedside 
and  pray  to  '  Our  Father  who  art  in  heaven,'  of 
whom  they  would  have  never  known  but  for 
that  same  mother  who  declares  sadly  that  she 
has  '  never  been  able  to  save  any  souls.'  I  know 
of  a  good  many  mothers  who  sigh  for  a  turn  at 
reaping  in  the  fields  that  are  white  unto  the  har- 
vest. They  have  read  the  twenty - fifth  chapter 
of  Matthew,  with  streaming  eyes  that  they  have 
so  few  opportunities  of  ministering  to  the  Lord. 
Little  ones  pull  at  their  skirts  and  tease  for 
supper,  or  they  awaken  in  the  night  with  their 
importunate  cries  for  'Water,  mamma,  water.' 
If  these  mothers  would  listen  to  Him  who  said 
'  Whosoever  shall  give  to  drink  unto  one  of  these 
little  ones  a  cup  of  cold  water  only,  he  shall  in 
no  wise  lose  his  reward, '  what  a  recognition  of 
home  missions  there  would  be!  John  China- 
man, bringing  the  basket  of  clean  clothes  to  our 
kitchen  door,  is  neglected,  tolerated  perhaps,  for 
the  money  and  hard  work  he  saves  us  by  his 
washing.  We  will  send  the  Bible  to  his  wife 
and  children  in  heathen  lands,  and  when  he 
goes  home  he  will  hear  them  read  it,  wondering 
why  we  never  told  him  anything  about  it.  And 
yet  it  is  far  easier  to  reach  a  Chinaman  in 
America  or  England  than  to  reach  him  at 
home." 
It  was  dark;  the  ladies  folded  away  their  work 

138 


At  the  Women's  Meeting 

and  disbanded.  On  the  veranda  I  heard  Mrs. 
McEllen  say  to  Miss  Waterbury:  "I  wish  yon 
would  come  and  see  me  often.  You  have  done 
me  so  much  good."  And  I  smiled  while  I 
thought  of  the  pressing  needs  of  home  mis- 
sions. 

139 


CHAPTER  XIX 
Was  it  a  Foundling? 

There  is  a  mystery  about  women  which  I 
cannot  understand.  We  are  one  thing  at  one 
time  and  so  different  at  another  time.  Now,  at 
that  meeting  which  I  recorded  in  the  last  chap- 
ter we  were  good  and  true,  if  not  harmonious. 
How  one  week  changed  us!  All  there  is  of  the 
resentful,  and  uncharitable,  and  unwomanly 
was  rife  in  the  next  meeting.  It  seems  that 
sometimes  the  spirit  of  hate  for  her  own  sex 
takes  possession  of  a  woman,  and  she  is  tempo- 
rarily deranged.  Even  good  women  forget 
themselves  and  join  in  the  mad  chorus  against 
a  little  sister,  until  we  may  well  be  convinced 
that  only  heaven  pities  and  forgives.  At  the 
meeting  to  which  I  now  refer  there  was  a  more 
general  attendance  of  the  ladies,  and  as  I  said 
they  were  "  out  of  harmony  "  for  no  particular 
reason  but — that  women  will  be  so. 

"  It's  a  terrible  thing  for  her  father,"  said 
Mrs.  A.,  changing  her  chair  to  the  west  window. 
"  He  ought  to  have  put  her  out  to  work." 

"  They  say  she  cries  all  the  time,"  quoth  Mrs. 

140 


Was  it  a  Foundling? 

B.,  "  and  I  should  think  she  would  cry,  the 
shameless  creature." 

"  She's  young  to  have  gone  to  the  bad," 
chimed  in  Mrs.  C.,  "  and  to  think  of  her  bring- 
ing up  the  younger  children!  The  whole  fam- 
ily is  disgraced.  I've  told  my  Jennie  to  have 
nothing  to  do  with  her  ever  since  her  mother 
died.  I've  felt  it  in  my  bones  that  she  was  no 
better  than  she  ought  to  be." 

"  They  do  say  she  is  real  modest,"  said  Mrs. 
D.,  "  and  as  for  work,  she's  always  up  before 
daylight  and  the  house  is  as  neat  as  a  pin.  I 
suppose  she  is  like  the  '  whited  sepulchre  '  the 
Bible  tells  about — fair  outside  but  inside  full  of 
corruption.  It's  a  wonder  she  hasn't  contami- 
nated all  our  children." 

The  last  speaker  was  a  young  woman  who 
had  become  a  mother  all  too  soon  after  a  hasty 
marriage  ceremony.  Her  child  was  considered 
respectable,  and  Mrs.  D.  herself  was  a  pillar  in 
the  Missionary  Society.  What  she  said  influ- 
enced the  circle  a  good  deal,  I  could  see.  They 
had  all  expressed  their  minds  except  Rachel 
Waterbury.  She  hadn't  said  a  word,  nor  had 
I.  I  was  too  shocked  to  say  anything.  Not 
shocked  at  what  was  being  said,  but  at  the 
danger  our  Susie  had  been  in,  for  she  had  been 
a  schoolmate  of  Minnie  Brown  and  thought  a 
great  deal  of  her. 

Minnie  Brown,  the  subject  of  all  these  hard 

141 


Was  it  a  Foundling? 

things  which  had  been  said,  was  scarcely  six- 
teen. Her  mother  had  died  two  years  before, 
leaving  the  young  girl  to  assume  her  place. 
Minnie  was  sweet  and  winsome,  neither  bold 
nor  bad,  and  she  made  a  great  many  friends. 
The  praise  of  her  was  in  everybody's  mouth 
until  this  dreadful  mishap,  and  now  the  blame 
of  her  was  on  everybody's  lips. 

The  boy  lover,  not  more  than  eighteen  or 
twenty,  had  been  sent  away  somewhere,  nobody 
knew  where — to  college  some  said,  or  to  Ger- 
many. His  family  were  wealthy,  though  it  was 
said  the  young  man  loved  Minnie  and  would 
have  wedded  her  gladly  had  he  not  been  pre- 
vented by  his  friends.  His  father  offered  Seth 
Brown  five  hundred  dollars  to  help  him  "  tide 
over  the  misfortune,"  he  said.  But  Brown  re- 
fused it. 

"  He'll  need  it  fast  enough  with  such  a  girl 
on  his  hands,"  said  the  lover's  father;  "  what  an 
awful  thing  it  must  be  to  have  such  a  daughter! 
Couldn't  have  been  brought  up  right.  If  he 
won't  take  the  five  hundred  dollars,  I  wash  my 
hands  of  the  whole  affair.  As  for  having  my 
son  pestered  either  by  the  girl  or  by  the  neigh- 
borhood, that's  out  of  the  question.  Thank 
fortune  I've  money  enough  to  keep  him  in  good 
society.  He  need  never  be  seen  here  again." 

When  I  got  home  from  meeting  that  day  I 

142 


Was  it  a  Foundling? 

told  John  the  whole  story,  and  when  I  was  done 
he  actually  wiped  the  tears  from  his  eyes.  He 
kissed  Susie,  who  happened  to  be  in  the  hall- 
way, and  started  straight  for  Seth  Brown's. 

John  was  an  own  brother  to  every  man, 
woman  and  child  in  any  sort  of  trouble,  but  I 
told  him  he  ought  to  draw  the  line  between 
trouble  and  shame.  It  doesn't  hurt  a  man  to 
sympathize  with  trouble,  but  shame  is  like 
pitch;  it  sticks  to  anything  it  touches.  "There's 
danger,  John,  there's  danger,"  I  said  to  him 
many  times;  but  he  made  answer,  "  I  can  see  no 
difference  between  trouble  and  shame.  The 
Lord  bore  our  shame  till  the  world  spat  in  His 
face.  If  they  had  but  turned  their  backs  on 
Him,  as  they  might  on  me;  but  they  couldn't 
turn  their  backs  on  Him.  And  the  Lord  hath 
laid  on  himself  the  iniquity  of  us  all.  He  was 
put  to  open  shame,  despising  the  shame." 

It  was  of  no  use  to  argue  with  John — as  well 
think  of  arguing  with  the  sun  when  it  shines  or 
with  the  wind  when  it  blows. 

Time  passed  and  the  days  were  dark  at  Seth 
Brown's.  When  the  baby  came,  some  of  the 
ladies  of  the  Missionary  circle  went  to  the 
house  "  to  set  things  straight,"  they  said. 

Minnie  was  too  distressed  to  object  to  any- 
thing, though  they  did  all  their  talking  right 
before  her,  and  she  told  Rachel  Waterbury 

143 


Was  it  a  Foundling? 

afterwards  that  she  "  remembered  every  word 
they  said,  and  would  through  all  eternity." 

"  It's  a  pity  the  little  thing  cannot  die,"  said 
one.  "  Is  she  well,  nurse?  " 

"  Is  it  deformed  at  all?"  asked  another.  "  It's 
a  wonder  it  isn't,  as  a  just  judgment." 

"  Don't  let  her  have  it  for  a  minute,"  said  a 
third.  "  She  might  love  it,  and  then  we 
couldn't  do  anything  with  her,  you  know." 

"  The  best  thing  to  do  with  it  is  to  give  it 
away  as  soon  as  possible,"  said  another  lady. 
"I  don't  suppose  any  of  the  families  around 
here  would  run  such  a  risk  as  to  take  an  unfor- 
tunate infant  like  this." 

"Nobody  would  take  it  who  knew  the  cir- 
cumstances," said  another;  "the  only  thing  left 
for  us  to  do,  as  a  body  of  respectable  women 
acting  in  the  place  of  the  girl's  dead  mother,  is 
to  take  it  to  the  Foundlings'  Home.  I'm  will- 
ing to  take  it  there  myself  though  I  don't  see 
how  I  can  spare  the  time.  But  I  feel  willing  to 
rid  the  neighborhood  of  such  a  calamity." 

I  was  younger  then  than  I  am  now,  but  that 
is  hardly  an  excuse  for  my  silence  on  that  occa- 
sion. I  was  there  and  heard  it  all.  My  cheeks 
burn  with  shame  whenever  I  think  of  it.  I,  the 
minister's  wife,  who  ought  to  have  taken  that 
poor  motherless  girl  and  her  innocent  baby  to 


Was  it  a  Foundling? 

my  breast — I,  to  sit  by  and  hear  all  that!  I  was 
weak;  worse  than  weak,  I  was  wicked;  and  I 
shall  never  forgive  myself,  not  even  when  I 
meet  Minnie  face  to  face  in  heaven,  if  I  get 
there  after  what  I  know  of  myself. 

And  so  it  was  agreed  to  send  the  sweet,  pink 
baby  to  the  Foundlings'  Home.  Yes,  it  was 
sweet.  It  looked  just  as  if  the  angels  might  have 
kissed  it,  in  spite  of  its  fate.  Ah,  its  fate!  If 
I  only  knew  its  fate!  If  I  could  only  find  that 
baby,  and  love  it,  and  keep  it  safe  for  Minnie, 
the  broken-hearted  mother!  But  I  shall  never 
see  that  baby  until  I  meet  it  at  the  last  judg- 
ment. And  then,  how  can  I  look  into  its  eyes? 

When  they  carried  the  baby  out,  Minnie,  the 
little  mother,  stretched  out  her  hands  and  tried 
to  say  something;  but  she  was  "out  of  her 
head,"  the  nurse  said,  and  nobody  paid  any  at- 
tention to  her.  I  did  suggest  that  we  wait  un- 
til she  got  well  and  could  help  us  to  decide ;  but 
the  rest  all  declared  that  Minnie  had  "  no  right 
to  say  anything;"  that  she  was  "  only  a  girl  " 
and  not  a  "married  woman;"  that  "in  the  end 
she  would  come  to  see  it  was  not  best  to  burden 
herself  and  the  family  with  an  illegitimate  child." 

The  father  of  Minnie's  lover  kindly  sent  his 
closed  carriage  around  to  the  house  to  convey 
one  of  the  ladies  and  the  child  to  the  Found- 
US 


Was  it  a  Foundling? 

lings'  Home.  He  said  we  were  doing  "just 
right."  That  it  "would  blast  Minnie's  pros- 
pects, and  leave  an  everlasting  stigma  on  her 
name  to  have  the  child  around." 

The  women  all  agreed  to  give  the  wayward 
girl  a  chance  to  reform,  "  now  that  this  stum- 
bling*block  of  a  child  was  out  of  the  way." 

When  I  got  home  I  found  Rachel  Waterbury 
talking  with  John.  She  and  John  had  grown 
to  be  great  friends.  They  were  always  plan- 
ning how  to  help  the  poor  and  shiftless  and 
sorrowful.  I  didn't  think  they  quite  knew  what 
they  were  doing;  at  least  I  told  them  they  did 
not  stop  to  consider  the  impression  they  were 
making  on  respectable  society.  Miss  Water  - 
bury  carried  peace  and  rest  to  all  the  crowd  of 
unfortunates,  as  surely  as  some  people  carry 
bread  and  chicken  to  the  poor.  The  bread  and 
chicken  are  usually  in  a  basket,  while  the  peace 
and  rest  I  mentioned  were  in  Miss  Waterbury's 
loving  personal  presence.  When  I  came  in  she 
was  saying  to  John:  "  The  family  are  in  comforta- 
ble circumstances,  and  I  think  it  would  be  better 
for  the  girl  to  keep  the  baby.  It  is  hers. 
Hadn't  you  better  see  Minnie's  father  arid  per- 
suade him  to  refuse  to  let  it  be  taken  away?" 

"  It's  too  late,"  I  ventured  to  say,  "  it's  gone 
to  the  Foundling  Asylum." 

H6 


Was  it  a  Foundling? 

"It's  no  foundling,"  answered  John,  with  more 
spirit  than  usual.  "  Webster  defines  a  found- 
ling to  be  'A  deserted  or  exposed  infant.  A 
child  found  without  a  parent  or  owner.'  They 
have  no  more  right  to  call  that  child  a  found- 
ling, and  to  take  it  away  without  its  mother's 
consent  than  if  the  baby  belonged  to  us.  Talk 
about  the  girl's  shame !  Shame  on  the  Mission- 
ary Committee!" 

I  was  speechless.  I  had  never  seen  John 
like  this  before. 

Miss  Waterbury  rose  to  go.  "  I  had  no 
idea,"  she  said,  "that  they  would  hurry  the 
matter  so.  I  would  have  taken  the  baby  home 
myself  till  the  poor  child-mother  was  responsi- 
ble. But  as  you  say,  it's  too  late.  I  am  going 
to  see  Minnie;  she  shall  never  want  a  friend." 

And  Miss  Waterbury  stayed  with  Minnie  as 
long  as  she  lived.  She  fell  into  quick  con- 
sumption and  died  in  two  months. 

The  other  ladies  called  occasionally  to  read 
and  pray  with  her  and  to  "  help  her  reform,"  as 
they  said.  But  they  had  "other  charitable 
cases  and  could  not  stay  long  at  a  time — besides, 
women  with  families  of  their  own  should  not  go 
too  often  to  such  a  place.  It  is  all  right  to  help 
fallen  girls,  but  one  must  be  careful." 

Minnie  never  ceased  to  cry  for  her  baby,  and 
U7 


Was  it  a  Foundling? 

once  Rachel  and  I  went  to  the  Foundlings'  Home 
to  find  it,  but  it  could  never  be  identified — a 
precaution  of  the  Missionary  Committee,  I  sup- 
pose. 

" Miss  Waterbury,"  Minnie  would  say,  "God 
gave  me  my  baby.  It  was  my  baby.  Why  did 
they  take  it  away?  I  want  my  baby.  Those 
ladies  come  here  and  pray  God  to  forgive  my 
sin.  He  forgave  my  sin  long  before  the  baby 
came." 

After  a  while  she  died.  When  we  came  to 
the  grave  we  found  that  someone  had  set  up  at 
the  head  a  white  cross  of  lilies  and  roses.  At- 
tached to  the  right  arm  of  the  cross  was  a  card 
with  the  inscription,  "Neither  do  I  condemn 
thee,"  signed,  "  Jesus."  I  believe  John  or  Miss 
Waterbury  placed  it  there,  but  nobody  ever 
knew.  Just  as  the  casket  was  lowered  into  the 
grave  Miss  Waterbury's  sweet,  low  voice  sang 
all  alone  just  these  two  lines: 

"  Now  I  lay  me  down  to  sleep, 
I  pray  the  Lord  my  soul  to  keep," 

and  more  than  one  voice  responded  "  Amen." 
All  that  was  years  and  years  ago,  but  it  is  as 
vivid  in  my  memory  as  if  it  were  to-day  and 
now.  I  have  learned  my  lesson  by  a  life-long 
pain,  and  now  I  never  hear  of  a  "  girl  who  has 
gone  to  the  bad,"  but  I  run  to  clasp  her  in  my 
118 


Was  it  a  Foundling? 

arms  and  whisper,  "  Peace,  child,  peace."  I 
have  been  on  the  board  of  two  foundling  homes 
and  not  a  child  is  ever  taken  away  from  its 
mother.  We  take  away  no  so-called  "  stigma  " 
by  taking  away  the  child.  The  child  is  the 
wedge  dividing  the  mother  from  her  sin,  and 
God  knows  it  when  He  places  any  baby, 

U9 


CHAPTER  XX 

John  did  not  Kiss  Mrs.  Black's 
Little  Girl 

John  had  a  great  respect  for  women,  and  he 
dearly  loved  little  girls.  He  showed  his  respect 
for  women  by  being  in  no  wise  "  a  lady's  man," 
in  a  clerical  sense.  Ministers  seem  to  have  an 
undue  share  of  liability.  Sympathy  for  them 
is  subject  to  exaggeration.  Flattery  approaching 
a  person  in  its  true  guise  is  recognized  and  held 
at  arm's  length.  Not  that  the  ministerial  heart 
is  unsusceptible.  It  is  wary  of  flattery.  But 
when  flattery  masks  itself  as  sympathy,  the 
citadel  is  taken  by  surprise.  Sympathy  is  irre- 
sistible. It  is  unheralded,  and  treads  as  upon 
velvet.  "That  was  a  lovely  sermon;  it  went  to 
my  heart,"  proceeds  from  a  dimpled  mouth  ra- 
diant with  smiles.  The  minister  cannot  help  a 
certain  gratitude  of  feeling  towards  one  who  has 
thus  appreciated  his  efforts.  There  are  more 
"  lovely  sermons  "  and  more  gratitude.  After  a 
while  there  are  backbitings,  and  slander,  and 
despair.  Innocence  suffers  because  the  ma- 
jority of  people  in  the  church  and  out  of  it  are 
credulous  of  wrong.  The  more  the  pity! 

150 


John  did  not  Kiss  Mrs.  Black's  Girl 

"  In  Christ  ye  are  neither  male  nor  female," 
wrote  the  apostle. 

"In  Christ!  "  But  in  the  church  and  in  the 
world,  in  a  very  vigilant  and  wide-awake  com- 
munity, we  are  necessarily  "  male  and  female." 
Society  poses  as  a  supreme  bench,  and  its  ver- 
dicts are  as  "unalterable  as  the  laws  of  the 
Medes  and  Persians."  A  minister  may  not  ig- 
nore these  verdicts,  be  he  ever  so  innocent.  He 
is  a  "  burning  and  a  shining  light."  He  is  hung 
in  a  naughty  world  and  is  exposed  to  gentle 
breezes  no  less  than  to  mighty  winds.  If  the 
wind  and  the  breeze  do  not  extinguish  his  light, 
smoke  and  fog  will  conspire  to  make  it  dim. 
From  my  heart  I  sympathize  with  the  ministers. 
Situated  as  they  are  "  between  the  upper  and 
the  nether  millstone,"  sympathy  and  suspicion, 
they  are  at  a  disadvantage. 

Sympathizing  with  them,  as  I  most  heartily 
do,  I  always  make  especial  friends  with  their 
wives.  A  minister  without  a  wife  is  a  ship 
without  an  anchor. 

John  is  looking  over  my  shoulder  again  and 
he  is  laughing.  "  You  make  us  out  rather  '  weak 
vessels,' "  he  says. 

"  Yes,  you  are  weak  vessels,"  I  say.  "  Ac- 
cording to  Scripture.  You  are  all  right  your- 
self, John,  but  you  know  as  well  as  I  that  some 
of  them  are  cracked." 

151 


John  did  not  Kiss  Mrs.  Black's  Girl 

It  is  too  bad  to  record  all  this  against  a  class 
for  whom  I  have  the  highest  respect,  and  to 
whom  the  Lord  relegated  the  spreading  of  His 
kingdom.  But,  on  every  hand  are  slander,  and 
evil-speaking,  churches  disrupted,  the  fair  face 
of  Christian  ministry  disfigured.  "How  true 
it  is  that  one  stain  on  the  spotless  robe  of  a 
child  of  Jesus  is  deemed  blacker  than  the  count- 
less sins  of  the  transgressor!"  Each  one  of  us, 
humble  believers,  is  a  child  of  Jesus,  only  some 
are  on  a  pedestal  while  the  rest  are  on  the  com- 
mon level  and  hide  behind  one  another. 

As  I  said,  "John  dearly  loved  little  girls  "  and 
he  does  to  this  day,  now  that  the  fringe  of  his 
soft  hair  is  as  white  as  snow  peeping  from  under 
his  generous  skull-cap.  This  was  one  of  his 
ways  of  expressing  his  love :  A  neighbor's  wife 
called  one  day  bringing  her  little  Maude,  a  child 
of  six  years.  Oh,  she  was  pretty  and  winsome. 
Just  to  look  at  her  was  a  festival,  while  to  feel 
her  soft  cheek,  to  hold  her  agitated,  plump  little 
hand  was — well,  1  cannot  describe  it.  The 
child's  mother  appreciated  it  all  with  a  mother's 
due  license  of  pride,  and  she  was  never  weary  of 
"showing  off"  the  little  one  in  a  quiet  way. 
She  meant  well;  she  was  simply  thoughtless  like 
many  another  happy  mother,  and  no  one  could 
blame  her  who  saw  the  child. 

"Go  and  sit  on  the  minister's  knee,  Maude 

152 


John  did  not  Kiss  Mrs.  Black's  Girl 

darling,"  she  said;  "give  him  a  kiss  and  tell  him 
all  about  your  new  doll." 

Obedient  little  angel  that  she  was,  Maude 
jumped  down  and  ran  over  to  John. 

Did  John  take  her  on  his  knee  and  kiss  ever 
so  reverently  the  dimpled  mouth?  Not  he.  He 
took  her  hand  respectfully  and  rising,  said:  "  Let 
us  go  out  and  look  at  the  roses,  Maude,  there  are 
some  new  ones.  Do  you  like  roses  and  butter- 
flies?" I  heard  him  ask  as  the  door  closed  be- 
hind them. 

Away  danced  the  child  down  the  path  like  a 
stray  bit  of  sunshine  detached  from  the  day's 
radiance. 

The  child's  mother  sat  thinking.  She  was 
one  of  our  intimate  friends,  innocent  in  heart 
and  life,  devoid  of  conceit  and  strictly  effeminate 
of  nature.  She  watched  the  two  as  they  strolled 
about  in  the  garden.  Something  in  John's  man- 
ner had  struck  her.  Suddenly  she  looked  me 
full  in  the  face  and  asked,  "  Why  did  not  your 
husband  kiss  the  child?" 

Now  my  first  impulse  might  have  been  to 
evade  the  truth  and  answer,  "  Oh,  he  didn't  mean 
anything.  I  guess  he  was  thinking  of  something 
else." 

But  Mrs.  Blank  was  not  one  to  be  deceived. 
She  was  frank  herself  and  demanded  frankness 
from  others.  There  was  an  honest  questioning 

153 


John  did  not  Kiss  Mrs.  Black's  Girl 

in  her  eyes,  a  pledge  of  good  faith,  and  I  replied : 

"John  is  peculiar,  you  know.  His  inclination 
to  kiss  the  child,  winsome  little  thing  that  she 
is,  yielded  to  his  principle.  He  often  tells  me 
that  he  loves  little  girls  too  well  to  treat  them 
as  other  people  do. 

"John  has  convictions  that  would  have  made 
it  wrong  for  him  to  take  her  up  and  kiss  her.  It 
was  for  her  sake.  What  is  the  little  girl  but  a 
little  woman?  Many  a  sweet  and  winning  child 
loses  neither  her  sweetness  nor  her  confidence 
when  she  has  grown  to  a  young  girl,  and  she  may 
keep  it  to  young  womanhood.  Were  the  world 
of  men  like  my  John  or  your  William  the  child's 
sweet  confidence  would  never  be  misplaced.  But 
alas!  there  are  men  that  are  not  good.  The 
maiden  may  meet  with  such.  And  then  we  have 
the  pitiless  stories  that  bring  indignation  and 
pain  to  every  mother's  heart.  John  says,  '  The 
little  girl  is  a  Shrine,  something  to  love  and  rev- 
erence and  hold  sacred,  We  put  our  shoes  from 
off  our  feet,  the  customs  whereto  cling  the  dust 
of  danger,  as  if  we  were  indeed  on  hallowed 
ground.'  Do  you  understand?" 

"  Yes,  I  understand,"  she  said,  and  she  wore 
a  troubled  look.  She  was  not  troubled  at  what 
I  had  said  in  the  way  of  resenting  it;  but  at 
some  possible  mistake  of  her  own. 

John  and  the  child  came  in  loaded  with  roses., 
154 


John  did  not  Kiss  Mrs.  Black's  Girl 

When  our  guests  went  away  the  mother  said, 
looking  at  John  and  me,  "I  thank  you,  good= 
bye,"  and  John  shook  hands  with  the  little  one 
just  as  he  did  with  her  mother. 

I  don't  know  why  we  should  not  help  one  an- 
other in  these  simple  ways.  If  it  were  not  for 
pride,  if  we  only  loved  each  other  better,  there 
would  be  greater  tolerance  of  one  another's  views. 
There  are  a  thousand  aimless  conversations — , 
feeble  of  motive,  and  of  what  help?  If  we  could 
rise  above  what  is  foolish  and  unhelpful,  and  ex- 
change ideas  upon  every^day  customs  and  topics, 
what  changes  for  the  better  might  be  wrought 
in  society!  But  we  are  afraid  of  "treading  on 
one  another's  toes." 

155 


OHAPTEK  XXI 
A  Proposal  of  Marriage 

I  went  to  the  study  one  day  and  found  John 
looking  perplexed,  and  yet  not  sad.  In  his  hand 
was  an  open  letter. 

"What  is  it?"  I  asked,  looking  over  his 
shoulder. 

"  It's  something  unusual,"  he  answered;  "read 
this,  if  you  like."  So  I  took  the  letter  and  read 
it  while  John  watched  my  face. 

Sunrise  Park,  Oct.  21,  18 — 
MB.  ROBEET  ALLISON: 

Dear  friend: — I  write  to  ask  if  you  have  had  a 
serious  thought  as  to  a  life*companion.  If  so  I  wish  to 
state  that  I  have  the  warmest  regard  for  you;  a  regard 
which  deepens  with  years  and  acquaintance.  Should  you 
feel  a  like  growing  regard  for  me,  be  assured  that  in  me 
you  would  find  those  elements  of  sincere  and  faithful 
friendship  which  mark  congenial  unions.  In  spite  of  the 
rising  color  which  I  feel  as  I  write,  I  am  conscious 
that  my  heart  and  heaven  approve  a  step  which,  on  the 
face  of  it,  may  be  somewhat  startling  to  yourself.  Trust- 
ing that  you  will  pardon  the  privilege  which  I  have 
claimed,  and  appreciate  to  some  extent  the  confidence 
which  I  have  reposed  in  you,  I  am  your  friend, 

RACHEL  WATEBBTJBY. 

"Well,  well!"  I  exclaimed;  "who  would  have 
thought  that  of  Rachel  Waterbury?  " 

156 


A  Proposal  of  Marriage 

In  his  first  surprise  Robert  Allison  had  brought 
the  letter  to  John.  The  young  man  was  a  gen- 
tleman of  unusual  dignity,  gifted  physically  and 
mentally.  He  had  never  been  known  to  "keep 
company"  with  any  lady,  although  his  esteem 
for  women  was  not  concealed.  As  to  age,  he  was 
some  twenty  =  eight  or  thirty — somewhat  older 
than  the  lady  who  had  addressed  him.  Rachel 
Waterbury  is  already  known  to  the  reader  as  of 
lovely  character,  rich  in  good  deeds  and  of  mod- 
est mien.  In  her  own  right  she  had  a  sufficient 
fortune. 

"Well,  dear,"  said  John,  "do  you  see  any- 
thing out  of  the  way  in  this?" 

"Yes,"  I  replied,  "it  is  all  out  of  the  way. 
How  can  any  woman  make  such  a  proposal?  I 
thought  Rachel  Waterbury  almost  perfect  until 
now.  What  can  Robert  Allison  think  of  her?" 

John  did  not  reply  and  I  went  back  to  my 
work,  meditating.  The  more  I  thought  of  it  the 
more  I  was  convinced  that  a  union  between 
these  two  would  be  just  the  thing,  provided  it 
could  have  come  about  in  the  natural  way. 
From  feeling  shocked  at  first,  I  came  to  tolerate 
the  new  departure,  and  at  last  to  feel  anxious  as 
to  a  favorable  outcome.  There  came  to  me 
glimpses  of  the  urgent  conviction  which  must 
have  impelled  Rachel  Waterbury  to  pen  that 
letter. 

157 


A  Proposal  of  Marriage 

I  felt  the  dignified  frankness  of  it  and  the 
sincerity  of  every  line.  No  gush,  no  fervid 
revelation  of  passion,  no  silly  protests  of  undy- 
ing affection. 

I  may  be  forgiven  for  having  watched  the  two 
the  next  Sunday,  when  I  should  have  been 
thinking  of  the  sermon.  When  they  met,  as 
they  had  done  every  Sabbath  for  years  at  the 
Sunday-school,  or  after  church,  there  was  a 
certain  defined  respect  in  the  young  man's 
manner  impossible  to  describe.  Not  self-con- 
scious in  the  least,  and  hardly  with  a  change  of 
color,  the  young  lady  seemed  as  "calm  as  a 
summer  sea."  "  What  is  surging  in  your 
respective  bosoms?  I  wondered  and  what  are 
your  thoughts  of  each  other?" 

The  sequel  was  a  happy  one.  John  married 
the  pair  three  months  after  that  extraordinary 
proposal.  And  John  declared  that  the  cere- 
mony was  so  impressive  to  him  that  he  needed 
not  the  proof  of  added  years  to  convince  him  it 
was  right.  Suffice  it  to  say  that  this  union 
was  one  of  the  happiest  we  ever  knew.  How 
could  it  help  being  such  with  a  foundation  of 
mutual  respect  verging  upon  reverence?  From 
the  moment  he  received  the  letter,  Robert  Alli- 
son said  his  former  esteem  for  Rachel  Water- 
bury  ripened  into  an  indescribable  regard. 
His  first  surprise  flowered  into  amazement  at 

158 


A  Proposal  of  Marriage 

his  own  stupid  lack  of  perception.  It  was  as  if 
he  had  loved  her  all  his  life. 

"But  what  a  risk  for  her!"  I  said  to  John. 
"  Just  think  if  repugnance  had  been  in  the 
place  of  esteem.  It  would  have  ruined  her.  It 
was  an  awful  step  for  any  woman  to  take." 

"  That  was  impossible,"  John  replied.  "  How 
could  any  man  be  offended  at  such  a  letter  from 
such  a  woman?  It  was  not  the  flippant  dash  of  a 
daring  girl,  nor  yet  the  religiously  sentimental 
outburst  of  a  weak  nature." 

John  had  his  own  ways  of  conducting  mar- 
riage ceremonies. 

I  used  to  say:  "John,  you  are  too  particular. 
Isn't  it  prying  of  you  to  ask  so  many  questions? 
Really  sensitive  persons  might  take  offense  and 
call  you  impertinent.  It's  their  own  affair  if 
they  are  not  congenial.  All  you  have  to  do  in 
the  matter  is  to  perform  the  ceremony  and 
pocket  the  fee.  Ten  to  one  you  will  never  see 
the  couples  again.  They  go  their  way  and  you 
go  yours." 

I  used  to  say  this  to  John  at  first.  After  a 
while  I  learned  to  think  as  he  did.  When  very 
young  couples  came  to  him,  or  especially  if  the 
lady  were  young,  he  never  performed  the  cere- 
mony without  written  or  verbal  consent  of  her 
parents,  except  in  those  cases  when  he  was  sure 
consent  was  withheld  on  account  of  unworthy 

159 


A  Proposal  of  Marriage 

motives.  He  actually  assisted  one  young 
couple  to  elope,  being  perfectly  assured  that  he 
was  justified  in  doing  so. 

Under  no  circumstances  did  he  marry  a  couple 
without  a  private  talk  with  each  separately. 
More  than  once  has  he  caused  the  marriage  to 
be  postponed  and  in  several  instances  to  be  giv- 
en up  altogether. 

John  had  a  way  of  getting  at  the  heart  of 
things  without  effort.  Confidence  expanded  of 
itself,  if  he  but  invited  it.  In  those  separate 
talks  he  learned  all  about  the  health,  moral  as- 
pirations, propensities  and  spiritual  experience 
of  the  applicant. 

As  to  health,  it  was  John's  emphatic  convic- 
tion that  no  man  nor  woman  who  has  an  imme- 
diate or  remote  probability  of  disease  has  any 
moral  or  physical  right  to  marry.  "Count  the 
cost,"  he  would  say;  "put  into  the  scales  pres- 
ent self-sacrifice  against  future  distress  and  the 
inevitable  entailment  of  disease  upon  others, 
and  which  is  the  heavier?  It  is  terrible,  the 
Iife4ong  strain  upon  affection;  the  bodily  weak- 
ness is  a  blight  upon  all  that  makes  many  lives 
rich  and  fruitful.  We  have  but  to  look  to 
see.  There  are  the  moral  probabilities:  the  his- 
tory of  crime  in  a  family,  the  taint  of  bad  rep- 
utation, remote  or  near.  'If  I  marry  him  I 
will  reform  him,'  is  a  cheat.  'If  you  do  not 

160 


A  Proposal  of  Marriage 

marry  me,  I  shall  go  to  the  bad,'  is  an  insult. 
'  I  shall  win  him  to  faith,'  thinks  the  Christian 
girl  in  the  hopefulness  of  her  ardent  nature. 
This,  too,  is  a  cheat.  Without  mutual  faith  in 
God — in  short,  without  a  third  party  to  the 
union  there  can  be  no  happiness." 

This  is  the  way  John  argued  the  case  and 
many  a  generous  fee  was  returned  to,  or  rather 
retained  in  its  owner's  pocket  in  consequence. 
John  never  once  thought  of  the  fee — that 
is,  not  till  after  the  ceremony.  He  was  think- 
ing of  Time's  fee,  which  is  always  extorted 
from  the  careless.  Not  that  John  ignored  a 
marriage  fee  when  everything  was  clear  sailing 
There  was  nothing  so  merry  as  a  marriage  bell, 
to  him,  when  it  had  the  true  ring. 

Of  course,  John  was  the  spiritual  adviser  of 
many  a  wedded  pair  and  he  had  a  keen  insight 
into  many  an  infelicity.  He  was  ingenious  in 
advice  and  very  discreet  as  to  giving  any  ad- 
vice at  all.  I  do  not  know  how  it  is  that  women 
are  so  much  more  willing  than  men,  to  commu- 
nicate in  the  matter  of  conjugal  disagreement.  A 
man  will  eat  his  dinner  in  silence,  light  his  pipe 
and  wander  down  to  the  courthouse  steps,  or 
to  his  club,  or  to  the  saloon  as  the  case  may  be; 
or  he  will  busy  himself  in  his  newspaper  (the 
paper  upside  down)  and  philosophize  upon  his 
situation  in  the  privacy  of  his  own  heart.  Very 

161 


A  Proposal  of  Marriage 

seldom  does  he  communicate  his  sorrows  to  a 
friend. 

With  the  partner  of  his  sorrows  it  is  different. 
She  tells  it  all  to  a  generous  neighbor,  mingling 
her  tears  with  her  suds,  or  wiping  her  eyes  on 
an  embroidered  handkerchief,  as  the  case  may  be. 
She  is  sure  of  sympathy,  and  she  gets  what  she 
is  sure  of,  with  many  an  anathema  upon  the 
sterner  sex,  and  a  companion  tear  over  the  fact 
that  "  men  are  such  brutes." 

She  finds  her  way  to  the  minister's  study 
and  there  pours  out  her  soul  and  her  husband's 
soul  in  the  presence  of  Clarke,  and  D'Aubigne 
and  Geikie,  and  Farrar,  and  Tyndall,  who  are 
staring  at  her  in  mute  dismay  from  their  seats  on 
the  book-shelves.  The  minister  sighs;  at  heart 
he  is  in  sympathy  with  the  accused  absent 
brother.  But  he  must  not  give  offense  to  his 
female  client.  Women  make  up  two-thirds  of 
his  congregation — besides,  to  be  courteous  is  his 
second  nature.  He  is  sorry  for  his  complainant 
and  he  tells  her  so.  He  "hopes  for  the  best"; 
"  perhaps  things  will  change";  any  way,  he  will 
remember  her  "in  his  prayers." 

His  visitor  goes  away  with  a  warm  feeling 
towards  the  minister  and  herself.  She  somehow 
feels  that  the  minister  is  on  her  side,  though  she 
cannot  remember  exactly  what  he  said.  She  is 
"strengthened,"  she  thinks,  and  she  takes  heart. 

162 


A  Proposal  of  Marriage 

When  she  meets  her  husband  she  feigns  a 
smile.  She  is  "ahead  of  him"  in  the  minister's 
sympathy,  she  thinks.  She  fancies,  when  she 
next  meets  the  minister,  that  he  is  giving  her 
sympathetic  glances. 

Oh,  this  lack  of  pride  on  woman's  part!  This 
deplorable  tendency  to  give  oneself  and  one's 
husband  quite  away,  without  so  much  as  a 
pennyworth  of  reserve! 

John  had  methods  of  his  own.  For  instance, 
Mrs.  McDeavitt  rang  the  bell.  She  seated 
herself  in  the  low  chair  John  politely  offered 
her.  She  wiped  her  eyes,  and  looked  implor- 
ingly at  John.  "Can  I  do  anything  for  you?" 
he  asked.  "Are  you  in  trouble?" 

"Yes,  indeed,  I  am  in  trouble!"  and  she  burst 
into  a  Johnstown  flood  of  tears.  When  the 
shower  was  over  she  turned  her  liquid  eyes 
upon  John  and  whimpered:  "My  husband  isn't 
what  he  used  to  be." 

"Oh,"  John  said  in  surprise. 

"No,  he  isn't.  He  is  cold — and — well — I 
can't  explain  it,  and  I  don't  know  as  I  ought  to 
try.  But  he  isn't  what  he  used  to  be." 

"Are  you  thinking  of  a  divorce?"  John 
asked,  respectfully, 

"A  divorce!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  McDeavitt. 
"Why,  what  should  I  do  without  Mr.  McDeavitt? 
He's  a  good  provider  and  he's  good  to  the  chil- 

163 


A  Proposal  of  Marriage 

dren,  and  he  stands  well  in  society.  It's  not 
that;  but  he  isn't  what  he  used  to  be,  and  the 
neighbors  know  it,  too,"  and  John's  visitor  burst 
into  another  flood  of  tears. 

"Let  me  help  you,"  John  said,  really  sorry  for 
the  misguided  woman.  "Are  you  sure  that  you 
yourself  are  just  what  you  used  to  be?  Would 
you  have  dreamed  in  your  halcyon  days  of  find- 
ing fault  with  your  husband  either  to  his  face 
or  behind  his  back?  Would  you  have  sat  tear- 
fully by  and  heard  your  neighbors  descant 
upon  him  and  upon  men  in  general  as  if  they 
were  a  band  of  cannibals  making  a  raid  upon 
helpless  womenfolk  with  intent  to  eat  them 
alive?  How  do  your  neighbors  know  that  your 
husband  is  not  just  what  he  used  to  be?  Let  me 
give  you  a  bit  of  advice,  since  you  have  not 
asked  it,  and  therefore  I  am  not  almsgiving. 
The  next  time  one  of  your  neighbors  makes  a 
remark  not  complimentary  to  your  husband  or 
to  men  in  general,  fly  at  them.  Make  as  though 
you  would  tear  them  limb  from  limb.  It  will 
be  a  wonder  to  yourself,  the  sudden  esteem  in 
which  you  will  hold  your  husband  when  once 
you  have  defended  him.  It  is  an  inborn  princi- 
ple of  the  human  heart.  To  defend  another  is 
to  make  that  other  a  hero.  Try  it,  my  friend. 
If  this  doesn't  work  and  your  husband  really  goes 
from  bad  to  worse — 


A  Proposal  of  Marriage 

"  I'll  have  you  to  know  my  husband  isn't  bad!" 
exclaimed  John's  visitor  with  an  earnestness 
that  caused  John  to  move  back  two  steps. 
"He's  better  than  you  are! "and  she  actually 
laughed  through  her  tears.  Then  she  went 
home. 

Good  men  like  my  John  are  as  thick  as  stars, 
but  oh,  dear  me,  if  they  knew  how  women  talk 
about  them  behind  their  backs!  It  is  a  shame! 
How  can  I  help  it  though? 

166 


CHAPTER  XXII 
I  Attend  Some  Other  Churches 

John  insisted  upon  my  attending  other 
churches  from  time  to  time,  both  "  as  a  change 
for  you,"  he  said,  and  to  "  get  pointers  "  for  him. 

I  told  him  that  I  was  "afraid  it  wouldn't 
look  right."  It  would  seem  as  if  I  did  not  ap- 
preciate him,  or  that  I  was  fickle  or  heretical 
or  something.  I  had  never  seen  a  minister's 
wife  attend  other  churches,  and  I  was  sure  it 
would  give  the  impression  that  "  something  was 
awry." 

Come  to  think  of  it,  however,  it  must  be  mo- 
notonous for  a  minister's  wife  to  always  sit  in  the 
same  pew  and  always  look  interested  in  the 
preacher  and  the  sermon,  and  appear  to  be  lis- 
tening to  the  sermon  for  the  first  time,  when  all 
the  while  she  knows  it  by  heart  and  is  wishing 
she  could  go  across  the  way  and  "hear  that 
other  minister  everybody  is  talking  about." 

Always  there  is  the  same  enforced  interest 
and  the  same  gray  shawl  and  the  same  alpaca 
dress,  and  much  the  same  bonnet  with  alterations 
in  the  trimming  that  everyone  sees  year  in  and 
year  out. 

166 


I  Attend  Some  Other  Churches 

It  was  kind  of  John  to  insist  on  my  visiting 
the  neighbor  churches,  though  I  do  say  that 
John's  sermons  were  always  good  and  interesting 
to  me.  But  I  learned  something  of  the  world  in 
going  about,  and  John  was  glad  of  the  hints  it 
gave  him. 

One  day  I  strolled  up  the  hill  above  the  town 
to  a  little  church  almost  out  of  sight  of  the  street. 
It  had  not  been  built  for  this  congregation,  but 
was  the  original  property  of  some  other  which 
had  outgrown  it  and  sold  it  to  its  present  owners. 
The  tiny  edifice  had  been  moved  up  the  street 
to  its  present  site.  Inside  there  was  a  cross,  like 
the  rest  of  the  finish  high  up  in  front,  and  there 
was  no  pulpit,  only  a  raised  platform.  I  almost 
expected  to  see  the  choirboys  in  white  emerge 
from  somewhere  and  sing  to  us;  but  they  had 
gone  away,  or  rather  the  little  church  had  gone 
away  from  them.  The  cross,  which  had  been  in 
the  heart  of  the  church  in  the  old  time,  remained 
in  its  old  place.  To  me  it  seemed  the  token  of 
peace  between  churches  and  the  "oneness"  the 
Lord  prayed  might  be  in  the  possession  of  His 
universal  church. 

The  choir  of  four  were  in  their  seats;  there 
was  no  organist  in  sight.  Upon  the  organ  lay 
a  single  rose.  The  effect  of  that  single  rose  was 
marvelous.  No  work  of  the  florist's  art,  with 
its  multiplicity  of  beauty,  could  have  compared 

167 


I  Attend  Some  Other  Churches 

with  it.  A  familiar  hymn  was  announced  by  the 
minister,  and  still  the  seat  at  the  organ  was 
empty.  As  he  read  the  last  line  of  the  hymn 
the  preacher  turned  and  sat  down  to  the  instru- 
ment. A  single  word  of  information  that  "  the 
organist  was  away  and  others  were  not  familiar 
with  the  instrument"  was  the  sole  apology  for  this 
new  departure  in  the  Sunday  service.  After  the 
sermon,  when  the  closing  hymn  was  announced, 
the  minister  again  took  his  place  at  the  organ, 
and  then,  rising  and  facing  the  audience,  he  pro- 
nounced the  benediction,  his  coat  skirt  draping 
the  organ  seat  behind  him.  There  was  a  certain 
unfamiliar  grace  in  all  this  that  touched  the  finer 
feelings.  The  whole  was  so  natural,  and  yet  so 
unique,  that  I  seemed  in  some  new  realm  of 
ministerial  responsibility. 

I  was  very  much  interested  and  sometimes 
amused  as  I  went  about  at  the  reading  of 
"  church  notices."  I  used  to  wonder  if  the  rail- 
roads would  not  yet  announce  their  time-tables 
from  the  pulpit,  and  the  hotels  their  prices  for 
board  and  lodging,  and  the  grocers  their  charge 
for  family  flour  and  potatoes.  Picnics,  moun- 
tain excursions,  sewing  societies  and  public 
lectures  were  actually  announced.  I  remember 
being  at  a  certain  church  and  hearing  the 
preacher  read  with  all  solemn  gravity:  "On 
Friday  a  fair  will  be  held  in  this  church,  in  the 
168 


I  Attend  Some  Other  Churches 

south  parlor,  at  which  aprons  will  be  sold  for 
ten  cents  apiece  and  dish  towels  for  five  cents. 
In  the  evening  beautiful  booths  will  be  ready 
for  strangers,  where  three  guesses  at  what  is  be- 
hind the  curtains  may  be  had  for  fifteen  cents. 
Refreshments  will  be  had  for  twenty-five  cents, 
after  which  we  shall  repair  to  the  north  parlor, 
where  the  floor  has  been  waxed  for  the  occa- 
sion." Then  followed,  in  the  same  tone  of  voice, 
the  usual  "  Let  us  pray." 

After  the  prayer  came  a  few  explanatory  words 
to  the  effect  that  if  we  "  would  keep  our  young 
people  from  going  astray  in  this  age  of  the 
world  the  church  itself  must  furnish  recreation." 

Another  day  I  heard  a  church  notice  to  the 
effect  that  "Ladies  will  be  sold  at  the  coming 
church  fair  to  the  highest  bidder.  What  were 
left  would  be  given  away  for  ten  cents  apiece." 
Following  this  announcement  was  a  word  of 
exhortation  from  the  preacher  in  a  really  beg- 
ging tone:  "  We  are  in  need  of  funds  and  some 
means  must  be  used  to  obtain  them.  Strangers, 
one  and  all,  are  cordially  invited." 

I  attended,  one  Sabbath,  a  church  which  I 
had  been  told  was  "not  exactly  evangelical." 
But  I  knew  a  good  many  of  the  members  in  a 
social  way,  so  I  saw  no  reason  why  I  should  riot 
go  there  once,  and  John  did  not  object.  What 
was  my  surprise  on  entering,  a  trifle  late,  to  hear 

169 


I  Attend  Some  Other  Churches 

the  congregation  singing  the  dear,  familiar 
tune — 

Nearer  my  God  to  thee,  nearer  to  thee, 
E'en  though  it  be  a  cross  that  raiseth  me. 

"There  must  be  some  mistake,"  I  thought. 
"  These  people  cannot  sing  about  the  cross  and 
reject  the  One  who  sanctified  and  endeared  the 
cross  to  all  the  world."  I  looked  about  the 
beautiful  auditorium  and  saw  the  cross  in  lovely 
panels  upon  every  door,  and  the  window-casings, 
too.  Even  the  stained  glass  was  set  in  cross- 
sections  and  far  up  in  the  dome  an  angel  was 
flying  in  midheaven  bearing  a  cross  half= 
hidden  by  his  extended  wings.  "  Ah,"  thought 
I,  "  until  architecture  takes  on  new  features  the 
story  of  the  cross  will  be  written  in  doors  and 
windows  and  frescoed  walls." 

I  was  in  such  an  unexpected  devotional  ec- 
stasy that  when  the  closing  hymn  was  given  out 
I  was  glad  to  sing,  for  I  loved  that  hymn — 

There's  a  wideness  in  God's  mercy 

Like  the  wideness  of  the  sea; 
There's  a  kindness  in  His  justice 

Which  is  more  than  liberty. 

There  is  no  place  where  earth's  sorrows 

Are  more  felt  than  up  in  heaven; 
There  is  no  place  where  earth's  failings 

Have  such  kindly  judgment  given. 

I  was  so  intent  upon  the  beautiful  piece  that 
I  did  not  notice  I  was  singing  the  next  verse 

170 


I  Attend  Some  Other  Churches 

quite  alone.     I  sang  on  with  my  eyes  fixed  upon 
the  cross  in  the  window — 

There  is  welcome  for  the  sinner, 

And  more  graces  for  the  good; 
There  is  mercy  with  the  Savior, 

There  is  healing  in  his  blood. 

I  was  all  unconscious  of  what  I  was  doing  and 
chimed  right  in  when  the  congregation  sang  the 
next  verse,  which  was  in  the  book — 

For  the  love  of  God  is  broader 

Than  the  measure  of  man's  mind, 
And  the  heart  of  the  Eternal 

Is  most  wonderfully  kind. 

Forgetting  everything  else  I  was  singing 
right  on — 

There  is  plentiful  redemption 

In  the  blood  that  has  been  shed, — 

when  some  one  pulled  my  sleeve  and  whis- 
pered: "You  are  not  singing  from  the  book.' 
I  was  conscious  of  an  astonished  rustle  of  hymn= 
books,  and  when  I  looked  at  the  hymn  before 
me  I  saw  that  the  verses  which  I  had  been  sing- 
ing were  left  out  of  the  hymn.  My  face  burned 
and  I  left  the  church  as  soon  as  the  benediction 
was  pronounced.  When  I  got  home  I  had  a 
good  cry  at  my  stupidity,  and  told  John  I  would 
"  never  go  to  another  church  but  our  own  again." 
I  had  made  "  a  fearful  blunder,"  I  said.  "  The 
idea  of  my  being  so  forgetful  as  to  sing  without 

171 


I  Attend  Some  Other  Churches 

looking  on  the  page,  and  to  sing  verses  which 
the  whole  congregation  besides  myself  knew 
had  been  left  out  of  the  book  on  purpose." 

John  smiled  and  said  he  was  real  glad  I  had 
"done  justice  to  grand  old  Faber.  The  dear 
saint  would  rise  up  and  thank  me,"  he  was  sure, 
"for  compelling  that  church  to  see  that  they  had 
left  out  the  very  heart  of  his  sublime  hymn. 
The  whole  piece  counts  for  nothing  without 
those  verses.  It  is  like  taking  the  heart  out  of 
a  man  and  then  bidding  him  live  and  move  and 
save  a  world." 

But  John  could  not  make  me  forget  that  I 
had  been  guilty  of  bad  form  or  ill-breeding  to 
mention  "blood"  in  that  connection.  I  have 
always  been  very  careful  since  to  stick  to  the 
text  when  I  am  singing.  But  it  does  seem 
strange,  come  to  think  of  it  now,  that  the  church 
should  have  been  singing  "Nearer,  my  God,  to 
thee,"  and  yet  leave  out  those  verses  that  refer 
to  the  Savior  by  name  and  by  his  sacrifice.  Of 
what  possible  meaning  has  the  cross,  separated 
from  our  sacrifice?  How  can  a  cross  raise  us 
"nearer  to  God"  without  the  Christ  who  gave 
himself  on  the  cross? 

172 


CHAPTER  XXIII 
Election  and  Reprobation 

John  said  that  "if  Faber  had  written  that 
hymn  before  the  time  of  Cain  arid  Abel,  the  two 
brothers  would  most  likely  have  sung  it  together 
with  all  the  enthusiasm  of  devotion" — that  is, 
all  but  the  two  verses  which  I  had  sung  alone  at 
the  church  which  was  not  "exactly  evangelical." 
"Those,  Abel  would  have  sung  quite  by  him- 
self." Imagine  Cain  saying  to  his  brother  Abel, 
"  There  is  total  lack  of  reason  in  this  religion 
of  yours  that  demands  blood  for  sacrifice.  For 
my  part  I  see  no  need.  We  are  all  sons  of  God, 
and  there  is  that  in  every  one  of  us  that  can  lift 
us  up  without  the  shedding  of  blood.  I  will  pay 
my  vows  to  the  Most  High  in  my  own  way. 
Besides,  the  idea  of  blood  is  repugnant  to  me. 
It  is  not  in  good  form,  and  I  dislike  the  word, 
especially  in  this  connection.  There  is  my  son 
Enoch,  scarcely  more  than  a  baby  yet — am  I 
going  to  bring  him  up  to  think  of  sacrifice  as 
necessary?  I  do  not  believe  in  sacrifice." 

I  suppose  it  never  occurred  to  Cain  that  it 
was  vulgar  to  speak  of  the  blue  blood  of  aris- 
tocracy, nor  to  refer  to  his  own  father  as  belong- 

173 


Election  and  Reprobation 

ing  to  blood  of  the  very  first  water.  He  could 
speak  of  the  royal  blood,  which,  flowing  through 
his  own  veins,  stood  always  between  him  and  the 
more  common  types,  such  as  dwelt  down  in  the 
land  of  Nod  and  elsewhere.  Cain  realized  that 
it  was  different,  this  royal  blood  which  he  felt  in 
himself,  from  the  blood  of  sacrifice  which  in 
some  unaccountable  way  made  all  men  royal. 
The  one  was  a  legacy  coming  to  him  in  a  natural 
sort  of  way,  lifting  him  above  the  meaner  sort; 
the  other,  being  outside  of  inheritance,  was  a 
gift,  which,  accepted  by  such  as  could  boast  little 
lineage,  insured  to  them  an  aristocracy  imperial. 
This  last,  being  quite  out  of  the  natural,  it  was 
considered  inelegant  to  refer  to,  and  Cain  grew 
very  wroth  with  his  brother  Abel  for  having  any 
faith  at  all  in  such  a  tenet. 

Cain  and  Abel  offer  their  sacrifices  to=day  "  in 
the  field,"  and  Cain  would  slay  his  brother — or 
rather  he  would  destroy  his  altars,  eradicating, 
as  he  thinks,  the  last  trace  of  a  belief  in  imparted 
royal  blood.  Still  pedigree  manifests  itself,  and 
we  see  those  about  us  who  have  come  of  poor 
stock  suddenly  endowed  with  noble  extraction, 
claiming  descent  from  a  long  line  of  ancestors  as 
lordly  as  they  were  illustrious. 

As  to  sacrifice — personal  sacrifice  for  another 
— which  Cain  would  have  nothing  of,  there  was 
his  mother.  He  loved  her,  but  he  never  thought 

174 


Election  and  Reprobation 

of  her  as  a  sacrifice.  He  could  see  her  growing 
gray  with  anxiety  for  him,  and  "working  her 
fingers  off"  in  helping  his  father  at  farming,  that 
they  all  might  have  enough  to  eat  under  the  new 
order.  "But  that  was  natural,"  he  would  have 
answered,  if  Abel  had  ventured  an  allusion. 
We  worship  the  "natural"  while  abhorring  the 
spiritual — that  part  or  principle  of  which  the 
natural  is  but  a  prophecy.  If,  by  the  sacrifice 
of  one,  bread  for  the  natural  is  provided,  why 
feign  surprise  that,  by  the  sacrifice  of  another, 
bread  for  the  spiritual  is  provided? 

Speaking  of  Cain  and  Abel,  I  remember  some- 
thing John  said  once  about  "election  and  repro- 
bation." Seeing  that  Cain  was  awry  with  the 
present  system  of  theology,  that  he  was  sleepless 
and  blaming  the  fates  for  locating  him  in  that 
particular  part  of  the  country,  the  Creator  spoke 
to  the  young  man  and  said:  "What  is  the  mat- 
ter?" 

Cain's  reply  is  not  given,  but  it  must  have 
been  something  connected  with  election  and 
reprobation,  or  else  God  would  not  have  spoken 
those  words  which  decided  the  question  of  "  free 
will,"  forever. 

"  If  thou  doest  well  shalt  thou  not  be  accepted?" 
That  was  election.  "Arid  if  thou  doest  not  well, 
sin  lieth  at  the  door."  That  was  reprobation. 

"Why  art  thou  wroth,  Cain?      Why  is  thy 

175 


Election  and  Reprobation 

countenance  fallen?"  It  is  said  that  God  looks 
at  the  heart.  This  is  no  doubt  true,  but  he  also 
looks  at  the  face,  or  perchance  he  has  no  need  of 
gazing  at  the  heart,  since  he  may  read  the  heart 
in  the  face.  It  was  an  early  lesson  in  physiog- 
nomy. Cain's  face  had  changed.  It  had  "  fall- 
en." And  God  took  notice.  It  was  the  first  face 
in  the  "  rogue's  gallery."  I  named  this  chapter 
"  Election  and  Reprobation"  because  I  should 
have  so  little  to  say  abou  t  it.  I  got  that  idea 
from  John.  He  says  the  less  you  say  about 
contended  points  the  better  for  your  cause.  It  is 
not  so  much  in  the  "  point  at  issue  "  as  in  the 
contention  which  the  point  gives  license  to.  Re- 
ligion has  not  given  rise  to  the  disputations 
which  those  who  cavil  have  claimed.  It  is  the 
spirit  of  contention  in  a  man  which  too  often 
makes  him  the  advocate  of  a  doctrine.  It  is  not 
that  his  whole  soul  is  in  his  doctrine;  his  whole 
soul  is  in  contention.  Good  men  have  been  so 
swayed  by  it,  at  the  same  time  denying  conten- 
tion, that  it  became  a  matter  of  life  and  death 
with  them  as  to  whether  their  theories  were 
adopted  or  not.  Hence  the  valiant  army  of 
martyrs  has  had  its  recruits.  Men  have  died  of 
contention,  fancying  themselves  martyrs  to 
religion.  It  was  contention,  not  Christian  reli- 
gion, that  condemned  the  soul  of  Origen  "to 
everlasting  damnation  for  having  expressed 

176 


Election  and  Reprobation 

hopes  of  the  final  pardon  of  sinners."  Origen 
was  not  free  from  contention,  albeit  he  was  a 
martyr  to  religion.  Why  need  he  have  contend- 
ed for  his  belief  in  the  final  pardon  of  sinners, 
since  those  self-same  sinners  would  martyr  him? 
The  last  day  would  have  vindicated  the  cause  of 
sinners  and  left  his  opponents  unpardoned  by 
the  verdict  of  their  own  theory. 

177 


CHAPTER  XXIV 
The  Tuttle  Family 

John  came  home  one  day  looking  so  tired  I 
thought  he  must  be  sick,  but  on  second  thought 
I  concluded  he  was  thinking  about  the  Tuttle 
family  down  in  Cades  Canyon.  He  had  driven 
the  children  over  in  the  afternoon  "  just  to  give 
them  an  outing,"  he  said,  but  I  knew  his  real 
errand  was  to  see  how  Ben  Tuttle  was  getting 
along.  Ben  wasn't  poor.  He  was  on  a  good 
salary,  though  he  worked  hard.  He  kept  the 
outlets  clear  and  the  main  pipes  in  order  for  the 
water  companies,  and  was  obliged  to  stand  in 
cold  water  up  to  his  waist  for  hours  at  a  time. 

Somebody  had  suggested  to  him  a  year  or  so 
before  that  a  little  spirits  of  some  sort  would 
keep  him  from  taking  cold.  It  was  the  old 
story.  He  soon  came  to  drink  enough  to  keep 
two  men  warm.  His  wife  found  out  about  the 
drink  and  quite  naturally  took  to  scolding.  I 
say  "quite  naturally,"  for  when  a  woman  feels 
hopeless  in  any  cause  she  scolds  as  a  last  resort. 
I  scold,  myself,  sometimes,  and  am  ashamed  of  it 
afterwards,  though  John  says  I  "needn't  be,  for 
when  a  great  many  women  scold  in  concert  they 

178 


The  Tuttle  Family 

effect  reformations  in  society."  So  I  suppose  it 
is  only  individual  scolding  that  is  really  ill-bred 
and  useless. 

Ben  told  me  afterward  that  if  Mrs.  Tuttle  had 
but  sent  him  some  hot  coffee  two  or  three  times 
a  day  it  would  have  helped  him  to  let  the  drink 
alone.  I  have  noticed  that  transgressors  are 
apt  to  blame  someone  else  for  such  advance 
as  they  make  in  their  besetting  sin.  But  I  do 
not  read  anywhere  that  God  ever  excused  any 
man  for  sinning  by  telling  him  that  his  "brother 
or  his  wife  ought  to  have  done  differently."  And 
so  I  told  John  one  day.  John  only  answered 
that  he  supposed  "  God  must  think  a  great  many 
things  to  himself  which  he  wouldn't  dream  of 
telling  us." 

I  had  often  seen  the  Tuttle  family.  Mrs. 
Tuttle  was  a  real  pretty  woman,  but  so  slovenly 
I  wondered  her  husband  ever  came  home  at  all. 
She  was  sick  a  good  deal  and  the  children  man- 
aged as  best  they  could.  After  a  while  people 
became  interested  in  them  on  account  of  Ben's 
drink,  and  scarcely  a  day  passed  that  they  were 
not  visited  by  a  temperance  committee.  They 
would  sit  down  and  sigh,  or  take  up  the  baby 
and  say  "  Poor  thing!"  If  Ben  Tuttle  happened 
to  come  in,  they  looked  at  him  reproachfully  and 
asked  him  if  he  knew  "  how  sick  his  poor  wife 
was." 

179 


The  Tuttle  Family 

Once  I  saw  a  woman  sniff  at  his  coat  which 
was  hanging  behind  the  door,  evidently  to  see 
if  she  could  "  smell  a  bottle."  But  Ben  knew 
better  than  to  bring  bottles  home.  He  hid  them 
behind  the  rocks  down  in  the  canyon. 

One  year,  about  Christmas,  Mrs.  Tuttle  sud- 
denly "took  religion,"  as  she  termed  it,  and 
then  the  household  economy  was  more  than 
ever  neglected.  Well-meaning  women  came 
early  in  the  morning  to  sing  and  pray  and  talk. 
They  had  not  got  far  enough  in  life's  lesson  to 
understand  that  religion  consists  more  in  doing 
than  in  saying. 

When  Tuttle  came  home  to  dinner,  tired  and 
wet  and  hungry,  he  expected  something  to  eat, 
of  course.  But  what  did  he  find?  A  dirty 
baby  asleep  in  the  middle  of  the  kitchen  floor, 
hens  walking  around  it  pecking  at  the  scraps  it 
held  in  its  little  closed  fist,  the  breakfast  dishes 
unwashed  in  the  sink,  and  covered  with  flies,  and 
his  wife  sitting  on  the  side  of  the  bed  reading 
"  Woe  unto  him  that  putteth  the  bottle  to  him, 
and  giveth  his  neighbor  drink." 

If  she  had  turned  to  Proverbs  and  read  the 
vivid  description  of  the  wise  woman  who  "riseth 
while  it  is  yet  night  and  giveth  food  to  her 
household,"  results  might  have  been  different. 
She  never  looked  up  when  her  husband  came  in, 
but  kept  on  praying  and  reading,  hoping  to 

180 


The  Tuttle  Family 

convince  him.  The  oldest  girl  was  trying  to 
get  dinner.  A  piece  of  steak  was  steaming  and 
oozing  in  a  vain  attempt  to  fry  itself  in  the  milk= 
warm  skillet;  and  in  a  kettle  were  some  pota- 
toes simmering  beneath  a  gallon  of  water — • 
long  since  "done"  in  their  dirty  jackets. 

I  saw  this  picture  several  times,  and  am  not 
exaggerating  it.  Ben  looked  at  his  wife  and 
then  at  the  baby,  drove  the  hens  out  and — did 
he  scold?  No,  indeed!  Men  pride  themselves 
that  they  never  scold.  But  he  did  what  was 
almost  as  bad;  he  boxed  little  Tom's  ears, 
kicked  the  cat  that  was  licking  out  the  break- 
fast plates  in  her  blind  desire  to  be  doing  some- 
thing, and  walked  out  of  doors. 

Then  Mrs.  Tuttle  and  the  oldest  girl  began  to 
cry,  and  the  way  looked  darker  than  ever.  John 
persuaded  Ben  to  wear  rubber  tights  when  he 
was  in  the  water  as  an  aid  in  preventing  chills, 
but  he  drank  all  the  same  and  the  family  went 
on  praying  and  crying  and  eating  irregular 
meals. 

A  strange  sort  of  people  who  called  them- 
selves "Christian  Scientists "  got  to  arguing  with 
Tuttle  one  day.  He  told  us  about  it.  They 
said  there  "wasn't  any  such  thing  as  whisky; 
that  he  just  imagined  it  was  good,  and  that  it 
was  imagination  that  was  driving  him  and  his 
family  wild." 

181 


The  Tuttle  Family 

"Don't  you  see,"  they  said,  "there  isn't  any 
evil  in  the  world  but  in  man's  imagination? 
Here's  the  orthodox  Bible  to  prove  it:  'And  God 
saw  that  the  imagination  of  man  was  only  evil 
continually.'  So  you  mustn't  believe  there  is 
any  good  in  drink;  really  there  is  neither  good 
nor  evil  in  it,  and  you  can  leave  off  your  habits 
if  you  just  think  of  something  else." 

"Well,"  returned  Tuttle,  "  it's  a  pretty  reviv- 
ing kind  of  imagination  sometimes  when  a  man 
is  cold  and  hungry.  Ought  to  be  cheaper,  don't 
you  think?  The  idea  of  a  tariff  on  imagination! " 

I  worried  a  good  deal  about  the  family  and  so 
did  a  great  many  other  women  who  belonged  to 
the  church.  We  used  to  drop  in  and  sympa- 
thize with  Mrs.  Tuttle,  and  try  to  do  the  work 
up  a  little,  just  to  show  her  how  it  ought  to  be 
done.  But  it  made  Ben  so  angry  when  he  came 
home,  we  had  to  give  it  up.  Mrs.  Tuttle  didn't 
like  it  neither — "  the  neighbor  women  peering 
around  into  her  closets,  and  winking  at  one 
another  when  they  found  a  particularly  dirty 
corner,  or  a  wasteful  platter  of  scraps  in  the  cup- 
board." Yes,  indeed !  I  worried,  but  John  didn't. 
He  never  worried  about  anything.  He  said 
"  God  hadn't  lost  sight  of  the  Tuttle  family,  and 
He  would  probably  see  that  they  had  a  chance 
to  touch  the  hem  of  His  garment  yet  if  the 
crowd  of  meddlesome  committees,  that  lacked 

182 


The  Tuttle  Family 

judgment,  would  fall  back  long  enough."  John 
remembered  the  Tuttles  in  family  prayers  every 
morning,  not  putting  God  in  mind,  as  though  He 
were  forgetting  them,  nor  nagging  at  Him  in 
an  impatient  sort  of  way,  but  emphasizing  "Thy 
will  be  done,"  as  if  that  particular  "  will "  was 
all  the  world  needs  to  set  it  right. 

Well,  this  takes  us  up  to  the  time  John  came 
home  looking  so  tired.  After  a  while  he  took  the 
Bible  down  and  read  how  Peter,  in  his  zeal,  with- 
out knowledge,  drew  his  sword  and  cut  off  some- 
body's right  ear.  And  then  he  told  me  that  he 
had  been  over  to  Cades  Canyon  and  found 
brothers  Goodsoul  and  Kightenough  there, 
arguing  with  Tuttle.  They  had  gone  down  to 
where  he  was  working  in  the  water  and  attacked 
him  with  what  the  Bible  says  about  "damna- 
tion "  and  "  better  put  a  knife  to  thy  throat " 
and  "  without  are  drunkards,"  etc.,  hurling  all 
sorts  of  terrible  insinuations  at  him;  and  there 
stood  Ben  in  the  water  shivering  with  cold  and 
anger.  His  "  right  ear  "  had  been  cut  off  by 
Peter's  officious  sword.  He  didn't  know  whether 
"  to  commit  suicide  or  lay  his  well-meaning 
visitors  out  on  the  rocks,"  he  said. 

This  lack  of  Christian  courtesy  and  good  judg- 
ment on  the  part  of  those  men  was  what  made 
John  so  tired.  He  says  he  thinks  such  passages 
as  they  had  selected  are  to  be  "  read  in  a  tender, 
183 


The  Tuttle  Family 

pitying  tone,  with  entire  lack  of  assertion,  which 
would  do  away  with  their  seeming  harshness 
and  make  a  man  feel  sorry  that  his  sin  had 
driven  the  Father  to  inflict  pain  on  His  children, 
which  could  only  be  equaled  by  what  He  him- 
self felt  on  their  account." 

A  week  or  two  after  this  John  went  over  again 
and  stopped  at  the  house  a  minute.  There  he 
found  a  Salvation  Army  woman  telling  the  chil- 
dren stories  while  she  cleaned  them  up  and 
made  Mrs.  Tuttle  more  comfortable.  John  said 
he  stayed  around  the  yard  examining  the  cow 
and  hens,  just  to  see  how  things  were  going. 
The  whole  family  liked  John,  and  he  felt  that  he 
was  in  no  eavesdropper's  shoes. 

While  the  stranger  was  at  work  she  sang  rol- 
licking songs  that  soon  made  Mrs.  Tuttle  stop 
groaning,  and  then  laugh — the  first  time  she  had 
laughed  in  a  year.  Not  the  words,  but  the  tune 
was  so  rollicking.  John  said  if  he  had  had  the 
blues  himself  he  would  have  smiled. 

"  I'm  a  soldier,  as  you  see,"  was  sung  to  the 
tune  of  "  So  early  in  the  morning,"  and  "  The 
Salvation  Army  will  conquer  the  world,"  to  the 
tune  of  "  I'm  a  man  you  don't  meet  every  day." 
John  could  see  that  the  little  woman  was  con- 
quering that  household,  and  so  he  wandered 
down  to  the  water  pipes. 

Long,    before  he  could  see    Ben    he  heard 

184 


TELLING    THE    CHILDREN    STORIES    WHILE    SHE    CLEANED  THEM 
UP    AND    MADE    MRS.    TUTTLE    COMFORTABLE. 


The  Tuttle  Family 

somebody  singing,  moving  along  in  the  brush 
toward  the  spot  where  Tuttle  was.  The  tune 
was,  "Now  isn't  it  funny  they  don't?  "  and  the 
words  were  the  same  we  often  heard  on  the 
corner  where  the  torches  stop  in  the  evening 
right  in  front  of  Peterson's  cigar  stand: 

"  For  years  I  have  followed  the  devil  around 

But  Satan  and  I  are  out. 
He  promised  me  pleasure  but  none  I  have  found, 

So  Satan  and  I  are  out. 

He  once  held  a  mortgage  upon  my  poor  soul, 
But  Christ  paid  it  off  and  made  me  quite  whole, 
And  off  from  my  heart  the  burden  did  roll — 

And  Satan  and  I  are  out. 

When  the  Captain  got  opposite  Tuttle  he 
stopped  and  passed  the  time  of  day  and  in- 
quired if  he  wasn't  cold.  "  I  was  a  minute  ago," 
Ben  answered,  "  but  that  singing  of  yours  made 
me  forget.  Do  you  come  this  way  often?  " 

"Oh,  yes,"  his  visitor  answered,  "  when  I  have 
an  errand." 

John  knew  the  "  errand  "  had  been  done  with 
the  singing.  It  was  dinner  time,  and  the  two 
walked  up  to  the  house,  John  behind  them. 
The  visitor  began  to  sing  again,  not  in  a  rol- 
licking tone  this  time,  but  in  a  sweet  voice  that 
fluttered  up  into  the  treetops  and  then  trailed 
along  in  the  dried  leaves,  or  rustled  in  the  wild 
grape  vines: 

185 


The  Tuttle  Family 

I'll  trust  thee  noo  dear  Savior,  I'll  trust  Thee  as  I  go, 
Oh,  I  would  live  and  seek  thy  love,  nae  ither  wud  I  know. 
Ye've  ta'en  the  burden  of  my  sins,  ye've  dune  a  heap  for 

me, 
Oh,  take  my  heart  dear  Jesus,  its  a'  I  hae  tae  gae. 

John  said  he  didn't  even  stop  to  speak  to 
the  Tuttles.  They  did  not  seem  to  need  him 
that  day,  and  he  came  home  looking  so  happy! 
— as  if  he  were  one  with  some  sweet  secret. 

Now,  I  never  admired  the  operations  of  the 
Salvation  Army.  They  seem  to  be  so  flippant 
with  solemn  things,  and  they  shock  refined 
people  with  their  noise  and  lack  of  good  taste. 
But  John  says:  "We  nice,  polished  folks  mustn't 
put  out  our  hands  to  '  steady  this  ark  of  the 
Lord.'  Better  to  make  the  ground  smoother, 
grade  the  track  a  little,  and  the  mysterious 
secrets  of  the  Almighty  will  be  taken  care  of." 

He  attends  their  meetings  sometimes,  and 
once  when  they  were  mobbed  by  the  town 
roughs  an  egg  came  plump  against  his  back. 
John  told  me  afterwards  there  was  such  a  "  rush 
of  perfect  peace  into  his  soul  that  he  could 
have  wished  the  pelting  prolonged."  He  heard 
someone  say,  "  Bear  ye  one  another's  burdens," 
and  looked  behind  and  around  him,  but  nobody 
was  speaking  save  the  Captain,  in  red,  who  was 
saying:  "Inasmuch  as  ye  have  done  it  unto 
one  of  the  least  of  these." 

186 


The  Tuttle  Family 

I  always  thought  that  "  Bear  ye  one  another's 
burdens"  meant  to  go  and  sit  by  the  sick,  and 
carry  them  jelly  and  flowers,  and  attend  funerals, 
and  be  sympathizing  with  people  in  distress 
generally.  But  John  says  the  text  has  had 
a  new  meaning  to  him  ever  since  he  felt  the 
explosion  of  that  egg  on  hia  shoulder,  which 
was  meant  for  the  speaker's  face. 

Well,  the  Tuttle  family  were  won  by  the 
Salvationists,  and  of  course  Ben  left  off  the 
drink. 

187 


CHAPTER  XXV 
Company  to  Dinner 

We  had  invited  Judge  Rich  and  his  family 
to  dinner.  Judge  Rich  was  a  prominent  mem- 
ber of  our  church,  well- to-do  and  highly  re- 
spected in  the  community.  Between  him  and 
John  a  friendship  had  existed  for  a  long  time. 
This  was  a  marvel  to  me — they  were  so  dissim- 
ilar. They  were  always  differing  in  opinion, 
yet  so  good-naturedly  that  neither  took  of- 
fense. 

Just  as  we  were  seated  at  table,  and  I  was 
pushing  up  the  baby's  high  chair,  we  heard  a 
knock  at  the  side  door.  Nancy  came  in  to  say 
that,  "  a  tramp  wanted  to  know  if  he  could  do 
anything  to  pay  for  his  dinner." 

"Certainly,  certainly,"  answered  John,  "see 
if  he  needs  to  wash,  and  bring  me  his  name." 

Nancy  returned  to  say  that  he  "was  neat 
enough,  though  threadbare,"  and  that  his  name 
was  "Archibald  Frye." 

"Ask  Mr.  Frye  to  come  in,"  said  John,  mak- 
ing room  for  the  stranger  at  his  left.  The 
tramp  entered,  somewhat  embarrassed,  but  he 
was  put  at  his  ease  by  John's  cordial  manner 

188 


Company  to  Dinner 

and  hearty  introduction  to  the  whole  party. 
It  was  as  if  he  had  been  expected,  and  John 
was  not  one  to  ignore  courtesy,  though  his 
guest  was  a  tramp. 

Judge  Rich  winced  a  bit,  and  his  wife 
colored  a  little.  I,  used  to  my  husband's  ways, 
could  but  smile  at  his  courage.  Madam  Grundy 
had  seated  herself,  as  unannounced  as  this 
tramp,  at  our  table.  As  usual,  she  demanded 
respectful  hearing.  John  was  always  more 
deaf  to  her  remarks  than  ordinary  people  are — in 
fact,  paid  no  attention  to  her.  I  was  almost 
sorry  for  our  guests  and  wished,  very  secretly, 
that  "  Mr.  Frye  "  had  not  happened  to  drop  in. 

John,  after  grace,  carved  the  roast,  and  at- 
tended to  the  duties  pertaining  to  mine  host  with 
more  than  his  usual  good  cheer.  Conversation 
was  lively  and  our  guests  forgot  their  momen- 
tary annoyance.  Topics  of  the  day  were  freely 
discussed,  and  John  led  so  adroitly  that  he  had 
beguiled  an  opinion  from  the  tramp  before  the 
rest  of  us  knew  what  he  was  about.  The  tramp 
proved  himself  intelligent,  and,  from  some  timid 
remarks  on  the  tariff,  he  came  to  an  earnest  dis- 
cussion with  Judge  Rich  on  the  outcome  of  the 
present  hard  times. 

John  sent  me  one  of  those  telegraphic  com- 
munications out  of  the  depths  of  his  blue  eyes, 
so  common  between  us,  and  I  was  more  than 

189 


Company  to  Dinner 

amused  at  the  turn  things  had  taken.  Dinner 
over,  the  whole  party  retired  to  the  parlor,  with 
the  exception  of  the  tramp,  who  excused  him- 
self and  went  out.  John  followed  him  to  the 
door  where  he  stood  talking  with  him  for  a  few 
minutes,  when  the  two  shook  hands  cordially, 
as  if  they  had  been  old  friends,  and  parted. 
The  tramp  went  down  the  street  in  search  of  "  a 
job,"  no  doubt,  and  John  went  into  the  parlor. 

"  Well,"  said  Judge  Rich,  "  you  astonish  me 
by  your  hospitality!  If  you  continue  this 
thing,  John,  mark  the  words  of  an  old  lawyer, 
you  will  be  overrun  with  tramps.  In  such 
times  as  these  one  cannot  be  too  reserved.  It 
is  true  we  ought  to  feed  the  hungry,  and  clothe 
the  naked,  but  there  is  danger  in  too  much  free- 
dom— though  I  must  confess  this  latest  tramp 
was  no  disgrace  to  your  table.  I  believe  you 
knew  him,  now,  didn't  you,  or  you  would  have 
been  less  cordial?  " 

"  No,"  replied  John,  "  I  did  not  know  him. 
It  would  have  been  the  same  had  he  been 
clothed  in  rags  and  with  the  look  of  a  criminal. 
As  long  as  we  spread  a  table  the  destitute,  from 
whatever  cause,  are  welcome.  I  often  wish  they 
would  come  again,  and  often  we  invite  them,  but 
strange  as  it  may  seem  the  same  face  has 
never  appeared  at  our  door  twice." 

190 


Company  to  Dinner 

"  Don't  you  think,"  continued  the  Judge, 
"  that  vagrancy  is  encouraged  by  your  methods? 
Instead  of  a  beggar  feeling  his  true  position,  as 
it  really  is,  a  mean  and  degraded  one,  you  bid 
him  feel  at  home  and  help  himself  as  if  he  de- 
served distinction.  Now  we  discriminate  at  our 
house,  as  most  of  our  church  people  do.  We 
never  turn  a  beggar  away,  but  when  a  tramp 
comes  along  my  wife  sets  out  the  scraps  on  the 
backdoor  steps.  The  idea  of  feeding  a  tramp 
from  china,  and  seating  him  beside  your  own 
children!  There  are  always  remnants  left  from 
yesterday's  meals  which  would  otherwise  be 
wasted.  They  are  good  enough  for  tramps,  and 
are  eaten  by  them  with  avidity,  too,  unless  they 
happen  to  be  full.  Coffee  for  them  is  as  good 
from  a  tin  cup  as  coffee  from  a  lacquered  bowl 
with  a  mouthpiece." 

Here  I  remembered  that  I  had  taken  a  mus- 
tache cup  from  the  sideboard  for  Mr.  Frye,  out 
of  respect  for  John.  I  did  a  great  many  things 
out  of  respect  for  John  for  which  I  deserve  no 
other  credit.  I  think  I  should  be  a  Christian 
out  of  respect  for  John  if  for  no  other  reason. 
The  fact  that  a  thing  pleased  John  made  that 
very  thing  the  one  of  all  others  which  I  was  de- 
termined to  do.  To  please  him  I  would  sew  an 
occasional  button  on  the  neck  of  a  tramp's 

191 


Company  to  Dinner 

shirt,  and  for  the  same  reason  pass  the  same 
tramp  coffee  in  a  mustache  cup  instead  of  a 
cracked  bowl. 

"  Judge  Eich,"  I  said,  "  I  used  to  feed  the 
tramps  on  the  backdoor  step,  or  give  them  a 
piece  to  put  in  their  pockets,  till  one  day  it 
happened  to  be  a  big  overgrown  boy  with  a 
coat  too  short  in  the  sleeves  and  trousers  too 
short  in  the  legs.  His  freckles  had  not  all 
faded,  and  his  downy  beard  appeared  on  his 
sunburned  face  in  a  manner  that  appealed  to 
my  heart.  He  looked,  generally  speaking,  very 
much  like  our  Harry  when  he  returned  last 
summer  from  his  tramp  in  the  mountains.  I 
thought  of  our  Harry  and  felt  ashamed  for 
having  offered  this  boy  food  out  of  doors  as 
if  he  were  a  dog,  and  I  took  him  right  in.  It 
was  for  no  other  reason  than  that  I  loved 
Harry.  Before  he  was  gone  he  was  shaved 
with  Harry's  razor,  his  coat  sleeves  let  down 
at  the  wrist,  and  a  bright  necktie  adjusted, 
almost  affectionately,  at  his  unhandsome  throat, 
just  in  front  of,  and  hiding  a  prominent 
'  Adam's  apple.'  Now,  don't  think  for  a  mo- 
ment, Judge,  that  I  loved  that  awkward  stran- 
ger boy.  I  do  not  deserve  credit,  for  it  was  the 
thought  of  our  own  dear  tramp,  Harry,  which 
moved  me.  I  am  sure  John  and  I  don't  love 
tramps  just  because  they  are  tramps.  It  is  for 

192 


Company  to  Dinner 

somebody's  sake  that  we  make  room  for  them 
at  the  table." 

"  In  My  name,"  said  John.  "  The  Master  knew 
the  nature  God  had  given  us  when  He  told  us  to 
give  the  cup  of  water  in  His  name.  For  His 
sake,  because  we  love  Him,  we  will  do  a  thou- 
sand things  for  them  we  do  not  love — just  as 
my  wife,  for  the  sake  of  our  boy  Harry,  caused 
the  boy  tramp  to  be  made  comfortable  and  al- 
most goodlooking.  Half  of  Christendom  are 
looking  for  the  Christ  to  come  again.  I,  too, 
look  for  Him.  I  may  seat  nine  unworthy  ones, 
tramps,  at  my  table;  the  tenth  may  be  the  Lord 
himself;  for  did  He  not  say,  '  Inasmuch  as  ye 
have  done  it  unto  one  of  the  least  of  these  ye 
have  done  it  unto  Me?'  We  look  for  the  Lord 
to  come  in  the  clouds  of  heaven.  I  would  not 
miss  inviting  Him  to  come  in  before  that  last 
appearing,  nor  set  stale  pieces  for  Him  on  the 
backdoor  steps." 

"  Well,"  answered  the  Judge,  "  I  think  you 
carry  things  to  an  extreme.  These  tramps  will 
never  thank  you  for  it.  I  always  notice  that  they 
go  away  from  our  house  with  a  sullen,  dissatis- 
fied look,  as  if  they  would  have  had  something 
more,  or,  indeed,  all  we  have.  In  most  cases 
they  are  self-made  tramps.  They  might  have 
saved  something  out  of  former  wages.  There  is 
that  family  on  D  street  we  were  speaking  of, 

193 


Company  to  Dinner 

you  know.  They  are  foolish;  they  do  not  know 
how  to  take  care  of  money  when  they  have  it. 
And  now  they  are  destitute,  and  I  saw  you, 
John,  leave  a  basket  of  provisions  at  their  door 
yesterday.  I  think  it's  mistaken  kindness,  and 
you'll  excuse  me  for  saying  it.  That  man  has 
always  been  on  good  wages  until  now,  and  ho 
ought  to  have  saved  for  a  rainy  day.  It  seems 
as  though  such  people  will  never  learn.  And 
they  expect  us,  who  save,  and  plan  for  the  future, 
to  support  them  as  soon  as  they  are  out  of  work. 
I  have  no  patience  with  them.  They  buy  the 
choicest  cut  of  meat,  and  the  finest  brand  of 
flour  when  they  are  in  luck,  and  starve,  but  for 
us,  when  they  are  out  of  luck." 

John  smiled  sadly,  while  he  replied:  "Too 
bad,  too  bad!  But,  Judge,  we  read  that  God 
said  far  back  in  the  time  of  Moses,  without  a 
why  or  wherefore,  '  The  poor  shall  never  cease 
out  of  the  land.'  Like  a  refrain  Jesus  took  up 
the  words  and  sent  them  down  to  the  church, 
'The  poor  ye  have  always  with  you.'  It  is  a 
simple  fact,  like  spring  and  summer.  We  are 
prone  to  exclaim  with  the  old  prophet,  '  Surely 
they  are  poor,  they  are  foolish.'  They  are  fool- 
ish, it  is  true,  many  and  many  a  time.  Who  of 
us  were  not  foolish  if  God  himself  were  the 
judge.  As  to  feeding  the  tramp  on  the  back 
doorstep " 

194 


Company  to  Dinner 

Here  a  gentleman  called  for  Judge  Rich  and 
the  conversation  was  closed.  In  thinking  it  all 
over  since,  I  am  not  sure  that  we  were  never  im- 
posed upon.  And  yet,  to  this  day,  we  always 
feed  the  tramps,  and  if  it  is  mealtime  they  sit 
at  the  table. 

195 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

Earth    to    Earth,    Ashes    to    Ashes, 
Dust  to  Dust,  in  Sure  and  Certain 
Hope  of  the  Resurrection 

•  I  was  never  in  the  habit  of  attending  funerals; 
indeed,  I  had  never  been  to  one  in  all  my  married 
life,  nor  had  I  looked  upon  a  dead  face  except 
in  those  cases,  before  mentioned,  when  the  neces- 
sity of  "  neighborliness  "  demanded  it. 

One  day  the  daughter  of  a  friend  died,  and 
John  urged  me  to  attend  the  funeral  "just  to 
show  my  sympathy."  The  family  were  not 
members  of  our  church,  and  a  neighboring  min- 
ister conducted  the  services.  I  went,  just  to 
please  John,  and  I  have  been  sorry  ever  since. 
The  whole  hour  was  a  torture  to  me,  and  if  to 
me,  what  must  it  have  been  to  the  bereaved 
family! 

When  I  got  there  a  few  of  the  neighbors  were 
already  seated.  Two  or  three  of  them  were  sigh- 
ing, and  even  sobbing  loud  enough  to  be  heard 
through  the  house.  I  knew  these  women  were 
in  no  wise  related  to  the  family,  nor  had  they 
ever  been  intimate.  I  have  learned  since  that 

196 


Hope  of  the  Resurrection 

there  are  people,  especially  elderly  women,  who 
make  a  practice  of  attending  funerals  and  mak- 
ing a  show  of  sorrow  which  they  do  not  feel  at 
all,  and  then  go  home  to  criticise  the  actual 
mourners,  and  tell  how  this  one  did  not  "seem 
to  feel  it  any,"  and  that  one  "  took  it  to  heart 
dreadfully,"  and  the  other  one  "actually  never 
shed  a  tear,"  and  "  there  wasn't  a  looking-glass 
in  the  house  turned  face  to  the  wall,"  and  "the 
corpse  didn't  look  at  all  natural,"  and  "the  coffin 
was  only  stained  pine  when  they  could  have 
afforded  better,"  etc.,  etc. 

As  I  said,  I  was  a  little  early,  in  time  to  see 
the  minister  walk  sadly  in  as  if  he,  too,  had  lost 
a  friend.  He  shook  hands  in  a  melancholy  way 
with  each  of  the  family,  and  then  he  whispered 
with  several  of  them,  loud  enough  for  all  to  hear, 
seeming  to  elicit  points  as  to  age,  and  sickness, 
and  preparation  for  death.  Then  the  service 
began  in  a  dirge — I  think  it  was  "  Sister  thou  wast 
mild  and  lovely."  Now  that  hymn  was  never  a 
favorite  of  mine.  There  is  something  abnor- 
mally sad  about  it,  sung  as  it  so  often  is  while 
the  sod  falls  like  a  muffled  knocking  on  the 
coffin^ lid  at  the  bottom  of  the  grave.  It  has  too 
much  of  the  painful  reminiscence,  and  too  little 
of  Faith's  uplifting. 

Besides,  it  is  sung  inconsistently  sometimes. 
"Gentle  as  the  summer  breeze,"  "Pleasant  as 

197 


Earth  to  Earth,  in  Sure  and  Certain 

the  air  of  evening,"  are  made  applicable  in  the 
excitement  of  the  sad  moment  to  some  veritable 
scold  who  in  her  lifetime  was  well  known  to  be 
anything  but  "  pleasant"  and  "gentle."  But  to 
go  back  to  the  funeral. 

After  the  dirge  the  minister  prayed.  He 
told  the  Lord  how  much  "  this  bereaved  family 
had  loved  this  dear  one;  the  form  that  now  lies 
before  them  cold  in  death."  He  mentioned  the 
fact,  while  he  sobbed,  that  "their  hearts  were  all 
bleeding,  and  how  they  would  miss  her  at  break- 
fast, and  dinner,  and  supper,"  and  how  they 
could  remember  that  "  Jesus  wept "  and  how 
they  would  all  "  meet  again  bye-and=bye,  after 
all  these  parting  scenes  were  over."  It  was  the 
most  curious  prayer  I  had  ever  heard  at  that 
time,  though  since  then  I  have  listened  to  many 
a  one  like  it.  We  have  all  heard  them,  these 
funeral  prayers,  fashioned  into  a  probe  where- 
with to  tear  apart  the  partially  healed  wound. 
It  is  done  for  effect  upon  the  listeners,  to  make 
the  particular  hour  stand  out  in  life's  wilder- 
ness like  a  pillar  of  salt,  a  monument  of  con- 
gealed tears  to  commemorate  a  backward  glance 
at  devastated  homes. 

When  the  prayer  was  done  everybody  was 
crying  audibly,  almost  wailing — and  how  could 
they  help  it,  especially  the  dead  girl's  mother? 
Then  they  sang  again  and  the  grief  grew  more 

198 


Hope  of  the  Resurrection 

still,  only  to  burst  forth  with  greater  intensity  as 
the  sermon  advanced. 

The  minister  took  for  his  text,  "  I  know  that 
the  child  will  not  return  to  me."  And  then  he 
went  on  in  almost  a  repetition  of  his  prayer, 
tearing  open  the  wound  with  pitiless  hand,  lay- 
ing bare  the  arteries  of  bereavement,  sharpening 
the  grief,  and  making  more  poignant  the  sting 
of  it. 

The  sound  of  crying  increased,  and  the 
preacher  seemed  to  take  heart  at  the  sound, 
leaving  not  so  much  as  a  fig  leaf  of  present  com- 
fort to  cover  so  naked  a  sorrow.  The  comfort 
was  in  the  far  future,  on  the  "  other  side  of  Jor- 
dan, where  the  waters  cease  to  roll."  There  was 
no  lifting  of  soul  and  body  above  the  grief  no 
gilding  of  despair  with  the  gold  leaf  of  everlast- 
ing reparation — everlasting  because  covering  the 
past,  present  and  future  of  human  life  with  the 
radiance  of  God's  own  sorrows.  It  is  true,  the 
minister  did  attempt  to  comfort  the  family  with 
the  assurance  that  the  dear  one  was  "better  off," 
and  "we  wouldn't  have  her  back  if  we  could," 
and  many  such  platitudes  so  familiar  to  one 
who  makes  a  practice  of  attending  funerals. 
These  platitudes  came  in  as  an  afterthought. 
It  was  as  though  the  preacher  had  suddenly  re- 
membered that  he  had  not  discharged  his  whole 
duty  if  he  left  them  out. 
199 


Earth  to  Earth,  in  Sure  and   Certain 

With  the  air  of  one  who  is  satisfied  that  he 
has  preached  a  "powerful  funeral  sermon,"  the 
minister  then  proposed  that  "  the  casket  be 
opened  so  that  the  friends  of  the  departed  may 
take  a  last  look  at  the  face  that  is  cold  in 
death."  I  was  indignant,  and  left  the  room.  I 
suppose  it  was  thought  that  I  was  overcome  by 
my  feelings,  as  were  the  rest.  And  so  I  was. 
But  I  did  not  care  to  feel  so  much  pain  at  the 
mere  abnormal  instinct  of  a  man  who  lacked 
the  refinement  of  personal  forge tfulness. 

And  yet  this  minister,  and  those  present,  had 
been  accustomed,  all  their  lives,  to  speak  of  "the 
Angel  of  Death."  They  had  thought  of  death 
always  as  "  a  happy  release,"  and  when  the  last 
hour  was  mentioned,  remotely,  it  was  always 
with  an  upward  glance  to  heaven  and  an  ex- 
pression of  resignation  on  their  not  unhappy 
faces.  Now  that  the  last  hour  had  actually 
come,  and  they  were  sitting  with  it,  how  differ- 
ent was  their  view,  apparently!  Now  that,  ac- 
cording to  their  previous  faith,  one  of  the  family 
had  been  "  taken  to  heaven  to  be  happy  forever- 
more,"  there  was  only  sorrow.  And  they  all  put 
on  black.  They  would  wear  the  mourning  in- 
definitely; those  who  were  the  sorriest  would 
wear  it  a  long,  long  time.  Those  a  little  less 
sorry  would  wear  it  half  as  long;  and  those  who 
200 


Hope  of  the  Resurrection 

were  scarcely  sorry  at  all  would  don  their  habit- 
ual garments  in  a  few  days. 

It  was  as  if  the  dear  one  were  lost,  instead  of 
being  with  the  Lord.  Heathen  people  of  whose 
funeral  rites  I  have  read  can  scarcely  seem 
more  desolate,  expecting  no  everlasting  life  to 
come.  "  Earth  to  earth,  dust  to  dust,  ashes  to 
ashes"  was  emphasized,  while  the  sound  of 
tears  muffled  the  "sure  and  certain  hope.' 
John  always  said  it  seemed  to  him  like  a  mock- 
ery of  faith.  It  is  no  wonder  that  the  unbeliev- 
ing world  taunt  us  in  our  grief  and  say:  "  You 
do  not  believe.  You  are  not  sure." 

When  the  minister  spoke  of  the  child  being 
"better  off  "  and  "at  rest"  he  did  it  with  such 
a  wail  in  his  voice  and  choking  in  his  throat 
that  his  words  had  no  force. 

I  told  John  I  would  never  attend  another 
funeral,  not  if  I  lived  to  be  eighty.  But  I  kept 
my  resolution  in  about  the  same  way  we  all  do — 
I  did  go  again.  It  was  years  afterwards,  at  the 
death  of  the  only  child  of  Rachel  Waterbury 
and  Robert  Allison.  I  shall  never  forget  it,  and 
if  I  live  myself  long  enough  to  stand  with  break- 
ing heart  above  my  dead,  I  shall  recall  that 
funeral  sermon  and  John's  face  while  he 
preached  it.  John  never  did  believe  in  death 
as  "an  angel."  Nor  is  death,  in  his  opinion,  a 
201 


Earth  to  Earth,  in   Sure  and  Certain 

"  happy  release  "  to  anyone,  save  as  age  or  suf- 
fering makes  it  so.  We  all  cling  to  life,  in  spite 
of  faith  in  some  better  life.  The  veriest  saint 
we  know  would  avert  the  translation  until  some 
other  day,  and  when  the  inevitable  end  comes 
he  turns  his  face  to  the  wall  and  sighs  in  forced 
submission,  'while  his  friends,  misunderstanding 
him,  call  it  resignation.  Death  is  the  "  King 
of  Terrors,"  the  last,  most  dreaded  "  enemy," 
unless  perchance  we  are  morbid.  And  God 
would  have  it  so,  for  has  He  not  told  us  in  His 
infinite  compassion  that  the  "  last  enemy  "  shall 
himself  be  subject  to  death? 

"Jesus  wept,"  not  because  His  friend  had 
died,  for  He  knew  that  in  a  day  he  would  be 
raised  again  and  be  as  though  he  had  not  died. 
It  was  thought  of  all  earth's  agony,  combined 
with  heaven's  grief,  both  inevitable,  that  moved 
the  Christ  to  tears.  And  who  shall  say  that  He 
was  not  thinking  of  his  Father?  "  The  chastise- 
ment of  our  grief  was  upon  him."  Not  only 
our  grief  was  His,  but  the  chastisement  of  it, 
the  correction  that  would  bring  us  out  of  it, 
the  resurrection  that  would  restore. 

But  to  go  back  to  the  funeral.  There  was 
silence  long  and  deep,  as  if  words  were  dead, 
and  then  "  Rock  of  ages,  cleft  for  me,"  was  sung 
as  only  John  himself  can  sing  it.  "  Thy  riven 
side  "  suggested  the  lesser  pain  of  riven  human 
202 


Hope  of  the  Resurrection 

hearts,  and  when  he  came  to  the  closing  stanza, 
"  When  I  soar  to  worlds  unknown,"  it  seemed 
as  if  we  all  went  with  him  and  were  safely 
housed  without  any  sorrows  to  speak  of.  There 
was  little  allusion  to  the  great  grief  that  all 
knew  was  only  too  keen;  breaking  hearts  were 
not  lacerated  by  unnecessary  friction,  the  vacant 
chair  and  the  empty  place  at  the  hearthstone 
were  left  to  plead  their  own  cause.  And  the 
sermon — how  can  I  describe  it?  I  cannot  recall 
the  words  of  it,  but  the  spirit  of  it,  the  subtle, 
permeating  essence,  like  some  rare  aroma,  fills 
all  the  house  where  I  am  sitting  whenever  I  am 
near  a  great  sorrow.  "Human  grief"  and 
"  breaking  human  hearts  "  receded.  John's  text 
was  that  one  which  has  more  moved  the  world 
than  any  other,  that  one  which  is  like  a  jewel 
upon  the  forehead  of  God  whenever  we  look 
towards  Him — "  For  God  so  loved  the  world  that 
he  gave  his  only  begotton  Son."  Rachel  Water- 
bury  told  me  afterwards  that  she  thought  not 
once  of  her  own  grief  while  John  was  speaking, 
although  it  had  seemed  too  great  for  her  to  bear 
till  then.  She  could  only  think  of  the  Father 
and  of  His  great  yearning  to  lift  the  world  above 
its  grief,  seeing  no  way  to  keep  us  from  perish- 
ing with  the  weight  of  it  but  by  giving  His  only 
begotten  Son.  Out  of  the  dire  necessity  that 
forced  Him  to  give  His  Son  for  the  life  of  the 

203 


Earth  to  Earth,   in  Sure  and  Certain 

world,  sprang  the  Light  of  the  world  to  illumine 
the  darkness  of  the  grave — His  grave  and  ours, 
with  the  radiance  of  the  resurrection.  And  had 
the  Father  no  heart  to  be  broken,  as  no  human 
heart  can  be  broken,  with  the  poignancy  of 
grief?  And  He  was  alone — alone,  as  no  human 
heart  can  be  alone!  No  tear  did  the  world 
shed  in  sympathy  with  the  Father  bereft  of 
His  Son,  not  that  His  Son  might  have  life, 
but  that  a  dead  world  might  have  it!  And  had 
the  Son  no  heart  to  bleed  that  He  must  give 
His  life  a  ransom  for  many  lives?  If  God  so 
loved  the  world  that  He  gave  His  only  begotten 
Son,  did  not  Christ  even  so  love  the  world? 
One  were  they  in  love,  and  one  in  the  might- 
iest sorrow  that  earth  and  heaven  ever  knew. 
What  else  does  it  mean,  that  testimony  of  the 
prophet  concerning  the  One  who  gave  himself— 
"  Surely  he  hath  borne  our  griefs  and  carried 
our  sorrows  ?  "  He  hath  borne  them,  lifted  them 
up,  taken  them  upon  himself.  Because  the 
world  would  not  let  go  of  its  sorrows,  but  seemed 
to  be  one  with  them,  inseparable,  the  Holy  One 
lifted  both,  the  heart  and  its  sorrows. 

I  had  never  dreamed  before  of  the  possibility 
of  suffering  with  the  Father,  of  the  privilege 
which  the  world  has,  blood=bought,  of  sympa- 
thizing with  Him  who  bore  our  sorrows  and  is 
bearing  them  still. 

204 


Hope  of  the  Resurrection 

When  they  sang  there  was  no  sobbing,  but  a 
subdued  silence  as  if  there  was  a  Personal  Pres- 
ence, Grief,  with  distinct  Holy  Body  in  the  room. 

There  is  no  place  where  earth's  sorrows 
Are  more  felt  than  up  in  heaven 

found  its  way  into  every  heart  in  the  room,  I  am 
sure,  with  a  new  and  tender  assurance. 

And  there  was  no  sound  of  crying  at  the  last. 
It  was  as  it  should  be.  Faith  leaped  the  distance 
and  rested  in  "  sure  and  certain  hope."  It  was 
as  though  the  moment  had  come  in  advance  of 
its  time,  when  "  God  shall  wipe  away  all  tears." 
In  some  indescribable  way  I  felt  that  a  time 
will  surely  come  when  the  world  may  wipe  away 
the  grief  of  God. 

In  the  full  confidence  of  faith,  always  his  own, 
John  lifted  his  eyes  from  the  grave  and  said: 

"In  sure  and  certain  hope  of  the  resur- 
rection" 

205 


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